


The Heart of Everything

by nini_pls



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Consensual Possession, Dark Past, Drama, F/M, Family Drama, Guilt, Hisoka Being Hisoka (Hunter X Hunter), Hisoka's Bungee Gum Nen Ability (Hunter X Hunter), Marking, Nen (Hunter X Hunter), Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Partners in Crime, Partners to Lovers, Saving the World, Secrets, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, dont worry the tension is still there teehee, maybe?? stay tuned, patricide edition, we are one saranghaja, whatever happens hisoka deserved it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:28:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29447073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nini_pls/pseuds/nini_pls
Summary: The end of the world is nigh, and Tyrin is the only one who knows it...and the only one who can stop it. It's her cross to bear, but no one ever said she has to bear it alone.As her body grows weaker, Tyrin must gather the strongest fighters in the world so that when the time comes, she can face it.And face it she will, because it's the heart of everything.
Relationships: Hisoka (Hunter X Hunter)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

The Hunter Exam was packed. Tyrin perused the sea of hopefuls, trying to gauge their potential, when a scream drew her attention—a man was wailing hysterically as his arms dissolved into pink butterflies. Nearby, Tyrin could see the back of a tall man who clearly couldn’t decide if he wanted to be a clown or a magician. With his arms crossed and fingers pressed to his mouth, he emanated an air of concern for the armless man, although his voice suggested otherwise.

“Watch where you’re going, it’s rude to bump into people,” he drawled, leaving his victim to writhe in agony. Tyrin was intrigued—the sadistic clown stood out like a fox among chickens. He even had red hair and, as she could now see, gold eyes. An alluring predator dressed like an eccentric clown, who smelled faintly of bubblegum and blood as he strolled past her.

She would definitely have to keep an eye out for him.

Tyrin turned her attention back to the room at large. A few kids and a gangly man were getting worked over by that toad-like guy who had been peddling cans of juice. He hadn’t offered one to her, but the several others who had dashed away to puke after accepting one made her glad he hadn’t. Then, the kid dressed like a tree frog spit his first sip right back out and asked if there was something in it, and the jig was up. Smart kid, with gravity-defying hair. The others followed suit, indignant, but the white-haired kid stood off to the side, casually draining his can. The group paused their squabbling to stare at him.

“Don’t worry, I’m immune to poison,” he said, crossing his arms behind his head.

Another interesting candidate. Young—maybe about twelve?—and brimming with restrained power. He had a feline air about him, like a housecat who scratches the hand that feeds him.

She wasn’t the only one watching him. Someone had sidled up next to her; she had to crane her neck back to see his face, which apparently doubled as a pincushion. He was ugly, unnaturally so, and his dark eyes were fixated on the poison-resistant kid. _Creepy_ , Tyrin thought. Best to keep tabs on him, partly because he radiated a decent level of power, and partly because she didn’t like the way he looked at the kid.

Before she could resume her analysis of the examinees, a polite voice called out.

“Welcome to the Hunter Exam!”

* * *

They had been running for _hours_. The monotony was driving Tyrin up the wall. Dozens of Hunter wannabes had been culled, their sweaty, heaving bodies strewn for miles. At least none of her specimens had thrown in the towel, although the loud guy with the briefcase (Leorio, she’d overheard) didn’t look too good. The blond kid, Kurapika, was clearly debating whether to help him or leave him behind while the other two kids, Gon and Killua, raced around tirelessly. She’d even learned the name of the clown, Hisoka, after eavesdropping on some others whispering about how he only failed the exam last year because he killed an examiner. He _did_ dismember a man just for bumping into him, so she’d have bet a few jenny that the story was true. The pinhead’s name eluded her, but he hadn’t gone near Killua again, so she let it slide for now.

Eventually they emerged into a misty swamp, the metal grate closing on a few stragglers who were just a second too slow. Everyone on her radar had made it through, even Leorio, who was red as a tomato and had at some point gone shirtless.

“And now, the real first phase will begin.” Satotz stood primly in front of the visibly smaller gaggle of examinees in varying states of exhaustion. Suddenly, he intercepted a slew of playing cards inches from his face, moustache twitching. Tyrin followed the trajectory to the clawed fingers of Hisoka, who managed to look amused and bored at the same time. His other hand was extended toward the corpse of a man-faced ape, slain by cards and bearing Satotz’ likeness.

“See, he’s the real examiner.” Hisoka said it like he’d been doing Satotz a favor and not casually trying to kill him.

“While you are correct, do that again and you will be disqualified. Again.”

So, it wasn’t just a rumor. What a surprise. The crowd quickly gave Hisoka a wide berth, and as Tyrin was swept along with them, she pondered the magic man: He had thrown the cards with unbelievable speed, and they were clearly nen-enhanced, but she hadn’t sensed even a lick of his aura. _Impressive_. She yearned to see more.

 _So much for that_.

The mist in the swamp was so thick she couldn’t see her own hands. It was all she could do to stay on Satotz’s polished heels, intent to remain a wallflower but equally cursing herself for not using her natural eyes. They burst through the mist into…an outdoor kitchen? _What the_ —

* * *

Being flown to the third phase in a cushy airship was much nicer than whatever the original plan was; Tyrin was almost grateful Menchi had been so picky. Almost.

They were deposited atop a smooth, windowless tower, told to descend it, and ditched. Tyrin sat back and observed as the others tried all manner of scaling the tower, eventually leading to the discovery of trapdoors. Hisoka was one of the first inside, disappearing in a flash of bright colors. Pinhead had vanished too at some point—as noisily as he moved, he was surprisingly stealthy. Killua, Gon, Kurapika, and Leorio parted ways, each slipping into their own door.

With all her specimens safely in the tower, Tyrin decided it was time to enter. She slid into the nearest trapdoor, which deposited her into a room with multiple exits. _A maze? Tedious_. She scanned the room, gazing wistfully at the small air vent in the corner. Oh, if only she could still seep into tiny spaces and float leisurely to the bottom of this infernal tower…Well, the examiners _had_ given them seventy-two hours, and reaching the ground floor so early would probably bring unwanted attention (and extreme boredom), so she resigned herself to the examiners’ whims and trudged into the first exit.

Many hours of twists and turns and cheap surprises later, Tyrin emerged in the end room. A handful of others, including Hisoka and Pinhead, were resting along the wall. Apparently, they’d been done for a while. Hisoka was sporting a couple of fresh cuts, one on his shoulder and one on his waist. _So, he’s not invincible_.

At the literal last second, a door opened in the wall and out tumbled the kids, Leorio, and Toady. Tyrin breathed a sigh of relief; she had been growing concerned that they wouldn’t make it, and she’d lose some good specimens.

For the first time in three days, they got fresh air as they were led out of the tower. The examiners instructed them to draw cards; Hisoka went first, then Pinhead, Tyrin somewhere in the middle, and finally the kids and Leorio.

“The number on this card is the number of another examinee’s badge,” the lead examiner said. “This person is your target.”

Tyrin’s card was the number 53. She glanced around to see who it might belong to, but everyone was hastily covering their badge or removing it. Hmm, that would’ve been a good moment to sneakily use her natural eyes. Oh well.

* * *

They disembarked from the boat in the same order. Hisoka and then Pinhead disappeared into the woods, two minutes apart as per the rules. Tyrin’s turn came, and she cast one last glance back at the boat where half of her specimens remained, before walking down the gangplank.

As soon as she was out of sight, she scaled a nearby tree to survey the island. The examinees who had gone before her had thoroughly hidden themselves— _hang on._ She peered at a small meadow across the forest. _Hisoka_? She might’ve missed him from so far away if not for his vivid hair. There were about thirty seconds left until the next examinee could leave the boat, and she fretted about whether to wait for one of the kids, or to go after the clown.

As the examiner called for the next person to enter the woods, Tyrin leapt for the next tree and headed toward the meadow.

When she finally crept onto a branch on the outskirts, Hisoka was sitting against the base of a tree at the opposite end, gazing at a butterfly perched on his finger. Another fluttered around his shoulder wound.

He glanced up. “What are you doing here?”

Tyrin nearly fell out of her tree as Pinhead emerged from the woods right below her, strolling over to Hisoka. _That was way too close. Also, how is he so stealthy? He literally rattles!_

“Hey.” Pinhead said. “Do you want me to tell you who your target is?”

Hisoka looked back down at the butterfly. “No, I’ll just get three random badges.”

“Suit yourself. Text me when you’re done.”

Hisoka hummed noncommittally. _These two text each other? These two_ know _each other???_ Tyrin’s mind was swirling with possibilities as Pinhead disappeared back into the forest. Hisoka remained seated, long into the evening, and Tyrin found herself feeling disappointed. _I’d hoped following him would be more exciting._ He hadn’t even noticed she was there, or if he did, he didn’t bother calling her out.

Still, she held out hope— _please don’t make me call_ Hisoka _boring_ —but as the sun rose again, shining on him _still sitting there_ _in the same fucking spot_ , she decided to pack it up. As she dashed away through the treetops, she spotted none other than Gon, who was headed the way she had come. She paused, perplexed, until she noticed he had a pair of bloodthirsty butterflies leashed to his finger. _Oh,_ she smirked, _clever little frog. Go poke the sleeping fox with a stick._

She tailed him back to Hisoka, who must’ve been Gon’s target—he’d have to be nuts to go near him otherwise. As soon as he spotted the magician, Gon ducked into a nearby bush and…completely erased his presence? That didn’t add up. The kid definitely couldn’t use nen, yet here he was, engaged in a near-perfect zetsu?

They watched Hisoka like that for what seemed like fucking _forever_. Tyrin didn’t know what Gon planned to do, and maybe he didn’t either—he was still crouched in the bush, _still_ using zetsu. She was seriously considering attacking Hisoka just to give Gon a chance when another presence appeared. _What is this, a zetsu competition?_ If so, the new guy was the clear loser—Hisoka finally moved, crushing a butterfly in his fist.

“Are you going to come out to play?”

 _Thank fucking god_. But her relief was short lived—the new guy popped out and charged Hisoka, who simply sidestepped, while Gon remained motionless in his den of foliage. Hisoka breezily dodged another weak attack, taking a seat on a log to examine his long nails. Before the guy could attempt another blow, a dozen bronze pins materialized, piercing his sweaty flesh. He fell over, dead, as Pinhead made his second appearance, rattling over to Hisoka.

“Sorry,” he intoned. “I was going to finish him off, but I was interrupted, and he ran away.”

“Hmm.”

“Well, I’m finished, so I’m going to relax.” Pinhead began pulling pins out of his weird face, which started to stretch and distort.

“Ooh, this is always so interesting to watch,” Hisoka purred.

His face stilled, unpinned and completely transformed. In place of Pinhead stood a (less) tall, slender, and exceedingly pretty man, with long, silky black hair and big, even blacker eyes. His expression was much the same as before, though now less creepy and more…utterly blank. Like a stone worn smooth, cold and unforgiving.

Tyrin was still pondering this development (and his notable mastery of manipulation) when he suddenly crouched and began excavating a hole like a caffeinated groundhog. He hopped into his burrow, pulling the dirt back in around him. “I’m going to sleep until this phase is over. See you later,” he said, piling the last of the dirt over his head and sealing himself inside his eco-friendly sleeping bag. Tyrin stared at the mound of dirt, completely dumbfounded. _If I had a jenny for every gorgeous but utterly unhinged man I encountered in the Hunter Exam_ , Tyrin marveled, _I would have two jenny_.

Meanwhile, Unhinged Pretty Man Number Two didn’t bat an eye, although Tyrin supposed that tracked with what she knew about him so far. Instead, he wandered off into the woods.

She found him again in a grove, placidly talking to an alarmed Kurapika and Leorio. Tyrin could only catch the odd word with her human hearing (being in incognito mode was starting to become _quite_ frustrating), but it seemed like they were making a deal. Then, Kurapika tossed something to Hisoka—another badge. Kurapika and Leorio backed away slowly before making a run for it, and Hisoka simply watched them go; Tyrin surmised that must’ve been their deal—a badge for their lives. Seemed like Kurapika and Leorio benefitted way more from that, but Tyrin didn’t pretend to understand Hisoka’s motivation for…anything.

Abruptly, a shudder ran through Hisoka, his clawed fingers digging into his own arms. Even from her hiding spot a hundred feet away, Tyrin could feel his bloodlust. His eyes snapped open, pupils shrunk to pinpoints and sclera shot through with red, mouth hanging wide open like a nightmarish carnival mask. The crazed clown broke into a sprint, and Tyrin spared a piteous thought for whatever poor fool crossed his path next. Hisoka was fast; in a matter of minutes, he had cornered a very unfortunate soul. As Hisoka reached for his victim, putting his badge—which he hadn’t bothered to hide or remove—on full display, a fishhook appeared.

The look on Hisoka’s face as Gon grabbed the white circle emblazoned with _44_ from his hook…Tyrin decided right then and there that Gon was a must-have. He’d gotten the drop on _Hisoka_. He’d outfoxed the fox. She’d never have guessed that that was his plan. _Well done!_

Hisoka and Gon locked eyes. Then Gon ran for his fucking life. Tyrin chased him, eager to see more. Unfortunately, someone felled the poor kid with a blow dart. Tyrin sighed. _Oh well_. The man pilfered Gon’s badge as well as Hisoka’s and walked off with his ill-gotten gains. She was _so_ tempted to kill him so Gon’s effort wouldn’t go to waste, but Hisoka beat her to it.

He strolled back toward Gon, tossing something on the ground in front of Gon’s face: Gon’s badge, and his own. _Well, that’s unexpected_. Even more surprising: Gon was angry. Fighting the paralytic, he hauled himself to his feet, muscles twitching wildly. He clumsily plucked Hisoka’s badge off the ground and held it back out to its owner. “I don’t want it. Take it back.”

Hisoka paused.

Tyrin watched with bated breath. Would Hisoka take it? Would he just walk away? Would he—

Gon went _flying_. Hisoka had slugged him so hard Tyrin could practically see the stars spinning around Gon’s spiky hair, the 44 still clutched in his fingers.

“I’ll accept that badge when you can return that punch.” Hisoka smirked, tossing the severed head into the brush as he stalked off to do god-knows-what for the remainder of the week.

Tyrin regarded Gon’s unconscious form. What a whirlwind that had been. After endless uneventful hours, _this_. She’d begun the week intending to observe Hisoka, but the real star of the show was Gon. Sure, he wasn’t the most consistent, but his ingenuity and unpredictability were promising. Even Hisoka had seemed impressed. There was no doubt in her mind that he would take Hisoka’s word and return that punch. She only hoped she was there to see it.

She wouldn’t be, if she didn’t get her own target’s badge, and now there was only one day left. Tyrin didn’t know who her target was, but she could rule out Hisoka and Gon. She couldn’t remember any other badge numbers with much specificity, though she was certain that Leorio, Kurapika, and Pinhead had three-digit numbers, and her target had two. The only other she could recall was Killua’s, a two-digit number, maybe with a 9? She hoped it was him. She would get quite a kick out of playing with him, and she’d learn some valuable information about his skills. Except—looking at her card again—she was looking for number 53, no 9s in sight. So, she could either gamble away time on Killua, who likely didn’t have the right number, or she could look for someone else…Killua was so tempting, but having only a day to find an unknown target on such a large island was probably cutting it too close, even for her. Too bad. She’d have to wait and see what Killua was capable of some other time.

She left Gon to slumber, clambering up to a good vantage point. There, Tyrin closed her eyes and carefully pushed out her en. Reassured of her solitude, she pressed her fingers to her eyes. Colors danced across the black screen of her eyelids, intensifying until her eyes snapped open, hands falling away. Her natural eyes glowed faintly, golden irises floating on black smoke.

Peering out with her now-enhanced vision, she could see clear across the island: There was Killua, skateboard under his arm, the pinnacle of nonchalance, facing three fools. He easily kicked their pitiful asses without removing his hands from his pockets. Tyrin caught a flash of his badge: 99. _Rats_ , she thought. Well, at least she got to observe him in action. His prowess was undeniable, and she was hungry to see more.

However, her target still remained. She swept her all-seeing eyes carefully around the island: Kurapika and Leorio, at the entrance to a cave; Gon, blearily waking from his knockout nap; Hisoka, relaxing against a tree (in fact, the same tree as before, with Pinhead’s sleeping hole right next to it—interesting…); Pinhead, presumably, still in said hole. Tyrin frowned, passing over an old man strolling a path and a bald guy meditating in a field, before settling on a hunched figure. He was small, puppy-like, and currently digging in his rucksack, giving each item a cursory glance before returning it and continuing his search. One of these items was a badge: 53.

 _Bingo_.

Tyrin didn’t know if it was his own badge or someone else’s, but it was about to be hers. He was about one thousand feet due west of her, across a rough patch of dense forest, so Tyrin decided it was best to stay in the treetops. Crouching on her branch, she focused all her aura to her feet and thighs, and with a jolt she burst from the treetop, arcing across the evening sky. She landed about fifty feet from her target, feeling out with her en to see if he had noticed—he had not. In fact, he didn’t seem to know how to use nen at all. Tyrin huffed, plopping down on her new branch. _Being cooped up like this is so tedious_ , she lamented, _but if I don’t revert back, I’ll regret it later, and taking him out like this would definitely be overkill and not subtle at all…_

Resigned to locking herself up again, she pressed her fingers to her eyes once more, dulling the fireworks behind her eyelids, sclera whitening and irises neutralizing to a plain brown. She dropped down quietly, stealthily approaching her target. Even repressed like this, it didn’t take more than a second for her to dispatch him, cleanly putting his lights out with one blow. He fell over, out cold, and she rifled through his bag, pulling out her prize.

“Better luck next time,” she said, patting his head.

* * *

Aboard the airship, Tyrin was finally able to take a nice, hot shower. It was one of her favorite human activities, but also necessary, since this meat suit got real stinky, real fast. Her favorite part was lathering shampoo into her hair, relishing the soapy, fluffy texture and massaging it around her dark brown mane. Well, maybe ‘mane’ was a strong word. When laden with suds, it had great body, and held very well whichever way she molded it, but as soon as it was rinsed and dry…all the life was sucked out of it. It became limp and dull, and her botched, uneven bangs were encroaching on her eyes. She had always been clumsy with scissors and trying to cut something while looking at it through a mirror didn’t make it easier.

Stepping out of the shower stall, Tyrin rubbed steam from the mirror so she could see her face: decent eyebrows, a somewhat snubbed nose, average lips. Big bags under her eyes, but considering she’d been engaged in the Hunter Exam for a few weeks now, it made sense.

More steam cleared from the glass, and she considered her body. It was both hers and not hers. Hers now, after the two souls inside it had unified and become one entity, but formerly belonging to a human named Rityn, who had sublet the meat suit to a not-human named…something. They had fused with each other to become what she was now—a sort-of-human with a jumbled name who couldn’t wield scissors and couldn’t really exist comfortably inside this human body. This was not exactly Something’s plan when it came to the human world, being confined to a pile of sentient meat, but Rityn got a huge power boost and Something got to go incognito, and now they were one being (also not according to plan) and it was certainly easier than when they were copiloting, so there was that.

But this body was still not perfect. Rityn had been utterly average, except for the age at which she began puberty, much earlier than her peers, so that when she let Something in at age fourteen, she had already felt awkward and strange for years (inhuman possession? No sweat). Over time, Something had taken the lead, shaping their body into something more useful, more fit for its purposes, and in turn, Rityn had become more confident. Together they crafted a superb human form, but the more their needs and desires overlapped, the closer they became, until their consciousnesses were inseparable, and therein the problem lay:

They had become more than the body.

In its peak condition, it had been magnificent: muscular, strong, and deadly, as Something needed, but also feminine, alluring, and shapely, as Rityn had always craved. It was a delicate balance between two lofty standards, and it grew strained. Tyrin, the unknowable creature, observed it now: The lines of her muscles were melting away, her shoulders hunching, all the visible vestiges of her strength fading with each passing day. If they had not become one, this body may have sufficed, and Something could’ve detached from it and entered another, parting amicably with Rityn. But they had reached this form, inextricable, and the power of Something was trapped, consuming the body it had crafted, perhaps even _lovingly_ , and it was painful.

Finding a new body had occupied Tyrin’s mind for the last two years, but suitable replacements were exceedingly hard to come by. She kept running into the same issue—there was no shortage of incredibly powerful humans, but upon closer inspection, it became clear that the power emanated not from their bodies, but their souls. If she chose to, say, take Hisoka’s body, evicting his consciousness would only leave behind a body much like her current one, albeit in better shape, but which would more than likely wither within a few years all the same. Unless she wished to leave a trail of burnt-out bodies in her wake, she had to finish her original plan, and fast. At best, she had two years left before this body gave out.

But for these few brief moments, in the steam of the shower and the soft terrycloth of a bathrobe, she relaxed her crumbling body, setting aside her lengthy to-do list for self-preservation and letting sleep overtake her.


	2. Chapter 2

She was sitting on a pillow, face-to-face with the Chairman, who studied her while stroking his crooked beard. She felt distinctly like Rityn again, eleven years old and caught stealing apples, ready to be chastened. The Chairman eyed her for a beat longer before cracking a smile and leaning back, folding his hands into his billowing sleeves.

“Relax, kid,” he said. Tyrin watched his curled beard wobble. The old man radiated an easy, sure power, the kind that made her certain he could flatten anyone here without lifting a finger. “I’m going to ask you a few questions.” He picked up a brush, dipping it into the inkwell and poising it over the notepad on the table between them. “Which examinees have you had your eye on?”

“Hmm…well, I think everyone’s keeping an eye out for number 44,” she ventured, aiming for a neutral position. “I also think that kid with the white hair, Killua? He’s pretty interesting too, I suppose.”

The Chairman jotted that down wordlessly. “Who would you want to avoid fighting?”

This gave her pause. She could easily contend with any of them, but she had to lay low, opting for what she assumed would be the most common answer. “Definitely number 44.”

“Thank you for your input.” The Chairman finished his notes with a flourish. “You can go, just be ready for the final phase at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.” He flashed her another benevolent smile. Tyrin ducked her head, excusing herself and heading back to her room.

* * *

“Rise and shine, we will be landing in approximately one hour! The final phase will begin shortly.”

The loudspeaker tore Tyrin out of her dream filled with smoke and betrayal, blinking at the sunlight streaming through the curtains. She made to stand, but her vision swam, the room coming in and out of focus nauseatingly. She could see the tiny scratches on the wood of the dresser across the room, but her own hands were blurry; her natural and human vision were butting heads, a delayed side effect of using her enhanced vision the other day, and it was sending her to Headache City at top speed. There was an hour left until the final phase, which sounded like it involved fighting based on the Chairman’s questions; she lay back on the bed and pressed her hands over her eyes, trying to will the pain away in time.

“The airship has landed, please assemble at the exit!”

Groaning, Tyrin gathered herself, made quick work of washing her face and brushing her teeth, tugged on her usual nondescript outfit, and stumbled out the door.

* * *

The long walk to the dojo and the fresh, crisp air alleviated Tyrin’s headache immensely. Her vision could still be classified as far-sighted, but the pain had thankfully receded.

Inside the exam room stood the eight remaining examinees, a few examiners, and a large board. “This is the bracket for today’s fights.” The Chairman stepped forward, gesturing to the board. “If you lose a fight, you move onto the next branch. If you win, you have passed the Hunter Exam. In the end, seven of you will pass, and one will not.” The examinees murmured, eyeing the matchups. Tyrin was relieved to not be going first. “We’ll start with Gon versus Hanzo.”

The fight did not go well for Gon at all. Hanzo came at him relentlessly until the poor kid was face-down on the ground (again), bruised and beaten. He planted his hand, determined to get back up, but Hanzo was on him instantly, yanking his arm behind his back at a painful angle.

“Give up or I break your arm,” Hanzo demanded, tightening his grip. Gon grit his teeth.

“No.”

_Crack._

A strangled noise tore out of Gon’s throat, his eyes widening in sheer pain. Tyrin winced. _Ouch_. Hanzo simply shook his head. “I didn’t want to have to do that.” Releasing Gon, he rolled into a handstand for some reason. “I have spent my entire life training in the traditional martial arts—”

He was cut off by Gon’s foot in his face. Tyrin bit down on a giggle. _Rule #1: Never monologue during a fight._ Gon landed, clutching his broken arm, but Hanzo didn’t even give him a proper moment to celebrate: He was back on his feet, brandishing a knife. He pointed it at Gon. “If you don’t surrender right now, I will cut your legs off.”

Gon pouted. “I don’t like this. Isn’t there a way for you to lose without either of us getting hurt? I don’t wanna surrender, so…”

_This kid is something else_. Hanzo didn’t seem inclined to humor him—he pressed the tip of his knife into Gon’s forehead, irately demanding his submission. They stood like that, contesting wills, as blood oozed down Gon’s face. After several tense minutes, Hanzo surrendered.

“Eh?” Gon’s eyes immediately softened into concern. “Wait, that’s not how it’s supposed to go! I have to defeat you! Don’t just w—”

Tyrin watched as once again, Gon was knocked out after complaining that he didn’t win the right way. As the Chairman gestured for examiners to cart Gon out of the dojo, Tyrin glanced at the other examinees. Killua was questioning Hanzo, confusion mixed with irritation in his eyes. Tyrin had seen how deftly he’d dispatched the trio in the woods; it made sense that Gon’s ability to outwill much stronger opponents threw him for a loop. They complemented each other nicely: Killua handled life with skilled detachment, and Gon approached it with unwavering optimism.

“Next match: Kurapika versus Hisoka.”

Oh, now this would be interesting. She hadn’t gotten to see what Kurapika was capable of, but he seemed intelligent enough, though Tyrin doubted that would be sufficient to win against the sadistic clown (magician? His penchant for card tricks suggested the latter, but the getup, makeup, and hair suggested the former…he belonged in the circus, that’s for sure).

Hisoka batted at Kurapika like a cat toy, cornering him. Getting right in Kurapika’s face, he bent nearly in half to whisper something that made Kurapika’s eyes go wide. Then he walked away.

“I lose this one,” Hisoka stated, waving a hand and returning to his place against the wall.

Kurapika carefully schooled his features, confirming his win with the Chairman before rejoining Leorio and Killua. Tyrin’s human ears hadn’t been able to hear what Hisoka said, and she wasn’t sure why he had forfeited a match he so easily could’ve won, but her contemplation was interrupted by the Chairman calling her name.

“Hanzo versus Tyrin.”

She moved to the center of the room, across from Hanzo, and studied him at length. Gon had annoyed him into admitting defeat, but prior to that he had displayed considerable combat prowess. He was also apparently versed in torture, and Tyrin really didn’t want her already frail body to be needlessly injured.

Hanzo wasted no time. He lunged for her, and in the split second afforded to her to make a choice about how to play this, she decided to play weak. Feigning a dodge, she let him catch and pin her in the same position he’d had Gon, one arm pinned behind her back.

“I think you know the drill,” he said, bending her arm painfully.

Tyrin sighed. _It would be so easy…so fucking easy…_

“I surrender. I lose!” Hanzo released her, and she sat up, massaging her elbow. _If my body wasn’t…would clobber them all…fucking annoying_ , she grumbled to herself.

“Bodoro versus Hisoka.”

Hisoka opted for deadly precision this time, taking Bodoro down immediately. He whispered in his ear too, and whatever he said drove Bodoro to surrender. Hisoka rejoined the others as examiners pulled Bodoro away to tend to his numerous injuries.

“Next, Tyrin versus Killua.”

Tyrin squinted at the bracket. _Huh, would you look at that_. She sighed. She’d probably have to tank this one too, and then the next opponent would be Pinhead, ugh…considering the remaining examinees, she supposed her best chance to win while keeping a low profile would be to fight Leorio, who would have to fight Bodoro, who could probably wipe the floor with him, but not with those injuries, so it was still a toss-up who her final opponent would be, but either way she’d have to throw hands, and—

“I lose this one.”

Tyrin’s head snapped up. She stared at Killua where he stood at the edge of the fighting area, hands in his pockets, cool as a cucumber. He walked away, waving her off. “Sorry, I’m just not interested in fighting you.”

Her eye twitched. _Little brat_ , she thought. _The arrogance_ …But in the back of her mind, she knew it made sense. None of them had any idea what she was truly capable of, and her immediate surrender to Hanzo hadn’t done her any favors. _Still, he’s a piece of work_. Although, as she thought about it, she should be grateful for his attitude—he saved her the trouble of faking her way through any more fights.

“Leorio versus Bodoro.”

Leorio stepped forward to request a postponement for the sake of fairness—Bodoro was prostrate, still out cold. The Chairman agreed, calling forth the next match.

“Killua versus Gittarackur.”

That must be Pinhead’s name. _Or was it? His name could be as fake as his face_. He rattled toward Killua, who regarded him with the same nonchalance he’d shown Tyrin. Then he took his hands out of his pockets. _Oh, so this weirdo is worth fighting? I see how it is_ , Tyrin scoffed.

“It’s been a while, Kil.”

Killua froze. Gittarackur began to remove his pins, staring at Killua again with that creepy grin. _That’s weird_. Did he know Killua? He called him ‘Kil’, which as far as she knew, no one else did. As the transformation began anew, yielding the onyx river of hair, pretty face, and eyes like black pools that she remembered, Killua’s eyes went wide. Tyrin could practically smell his fear.

“Aniki!”

Well, well, _well_. That was certainly a plot twist. They looked nothing alike, but there was indeed something similar in their cool, aloof demeanors. Although, at this particular moment, Killua was less cool and aloof, and more nervous and fearful.

“Hey.” Pinhead’s voice was just as airy as she remembered, and with his expressionless face, he was the very definition of ‘detached’. “I heard you stabbed Mom and Milluki.”

Killua smiled nervously. “I guess I did.”

“Mom couldn’t stop crying.” _I would too if my kid stabbed me—_ “She was just so happy.” _—or not_. “She’s so glad to see you’re finally growing up.” Pinhead (Gittarackur? Bigger Killua? Whatever his real name was) stood there, stock still, unblinking. _Pretty and creepy, like a doll_. “I’m here to get a Hunter license for a job,” he explained. _Job?_ “I didn’t realize you wanted to be a Hunter.”

Killua’s gaze flitted between his shoes his brother, torn between avoiding eye contact and holding it. Poor kid looked absolutely terrified of ‘Aniki’. “W-well, I don’t really want to become a Hunter…I just felt like taking the exam.”

Tyrin could feel something in the brother’s gaze change, but she couldn’t see his eyes well enough to know exactly what. “I see.” A powerful wave of aura seeped toward Killua, immobilizing him. “That’s a relief, then, because you’re not cut out to be a Hunter. You’re only good for one thing: being an assassin. You’re a puppet. You have no desires, no wishes. Your only pleasure is causing death, because that’s how Dad and I raised you.”

Killua’s lip began to quiver. _A family who turns their kids into assassins by crushing their humanity and spirit. Lovely_. “That’s not true.” He clenched his fists, tears leaking down his cheeks. “Everyone wants something, and that includes me. I want something—”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do!” Killua snapped. “I…I want to be…I want to be Gon’s friend.” He steeled himself, staring resolutely at the floor. “I-I’m so sick of killing. I just want to be friends with Gon.”

“Impossible.” Killua’s eyes shot up to his brother’s unflappable face. “You’re not capable of friendship. You can only discern whether to kill someone, and Gon is a person you can’t classify. You don’t want to be his friend. Someday, you’ll kill him. You’re a murderer by nature.”

_What a piece of shit_. Tyrin wanted to throttle him for saying such awful things to his kid brother, but Leorio was already on it, straining against the examiners’ arm-barrier to yell.

“Killua, don’t listen to that bastard! He’s wrong! You and Gon are already friends!”

Killua’s shoulders, which had slumped under the weight of his brother’s harsh words, jerked back at Leorio’s cry. For the first time, ‘Aniki’ looked away from Killua, focusing his bottomless eyes on Leorio instead. “Huh? Is that true?”

“Of course it’s true!” Leorio sputtered. “At least, Gon seems to think so! Eat shit, asshole!”

“Hmm, that’s not good. He already considers Kil a friend?” The brother pounded his fist on his palm decisively. “Okay, I’ll kill Gon.” A collective gasp. _He can’t be serious?_ “Assassins have no use for friends. They only get in the way.” A row of pins appeared between his knuckles as he turned toward the door, only to find Kurapika, Hanzo, and Leorio blocking his path.

“Ah, what a pain,” he lamented monotonously. “If I kill anyone, I’ll get disqualified, and Kil will pass.” He poked a finger to his temple. “Oh, got it. I’ll pass the exam, then kill Gon.” He looked to the Chairman, who reluctantly confirmed that that was within the rules.

‘Aniki’ turned back to Killua. “Did you hear that, Kil? If you want to save Gon, you’re going to have to defeat me.” Killua was soaked in a cold sweat. “Can you do it?” He was right in front of Killua now, looming over him. “I think you know the answer, Kil.” Slowly, he extended his hand toward his petrified little brother. “‘I’m not strong enough to defeat my big brother.’ Remember that lesson I drilled into you? Never go up against a superior opponent.”

His fingers stopped just shy of Killua’s forehead. The younger brother jolted, reflexively moving to take a step back. “Don’t move. If you move another inch, or if our bodies come in contact, I will assume the fight has begun.” His fingers moved closer again. “There’s only one way to stop me. But remember, if you choose to leave this fight, I will kill Gon.”

“Killua, take him out! We’ll protect you, you and Gon!” Leorio shouted.

The older brother’s fingers were less than an inch away, and despite Leorio’s continued encouragement, at the last second, Killua dropped his head. “I admit defeat.” Killua’s fists loosened, exhausted. “You win, Illumi.”

_Illumi_ , Tyrin thought. _What a pretty name for an absolutely terrible person_.

Illumi blinked owlishly before clapping his hands together, lips forming a facsimile of a smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, excellent! No need to fight then.” He chuckled robotically. “I lied, Kil. I was never going to kill Gon. I just wanted to test you, and now I know for sure.” He leaned in, his smile gone. “You are simply not qualified to make friends.”

Killua’s eyes dulled.

Every word Illumi spoke extinguished a little more of their light. “You’ll go back to doing what you do best, just like Dad and I raised you.” Illumi strolled back to the rest of the examinees, ignoring their wary glares. Tyrin wanted _so_ badly to kick his ass, all of Killua’s prior arrogance forgiven in the face of his apparent lifetime of trauma at this fucker’s hands, but in the interest of preserving her body, she restrained herself, _barely_.

Killua wandered, zombie-like, out of the ring. Tyrin watched him. He hung back in a corner, staring without seeing, as Leorio and Bodoro prepared for their fight. In the brief moment she’d glanced back to the ring, Killua had disappeared, and the next thing she knew, Bodoro was falling to his knees, a bloodstain blooming over his heart. Killua stood behind his corpse, hand still outstretched and dripping with the old man’s blood, his eyes dull and blank, as if he had killed on autopilot.

Horrified, Tyrin looked around: All the others were equally shocked, even Hisoka, who’d arched a single finely shaped eyebrow, except for _one_. Illumi was as impassive as stone, though the longer Tyrin stared, the more she thought there might be a hint of…satisfaction?

The Chairman broke through the silence. “Killua is disqualified. The rest of you pass.”

Reanimated by the sound of his name, Killua shuddered violently. He stared confusedly at his bloody hand, before bolting out the door. Tyrin peeked at Illumi again, vainly hopeful he would pursue his brother, but he didn’t even spare him a glance. It was getting harder to stop herself from strangling him.

“If the six of you will follow me, we will get started with the Hunter orientation.”

* * *

Tyrin stood in a corner of the courtyard, observing the other newly christened Hunters. They had sat through a long and boring explanation of the Hunter Association rules and regulations, until the return of Gon. In his rage at Illumi, he’d grabbed the pretty asshole, gripping his arm so hard he broke it. _Like he fucking deserves._

Presently, Illumi was talking to Hisoka, his forearm purpling and crooked, although his face expressed no pain. Tyrin considered the two of them; after watching Illumi publicly abuse Killua, she was sure he was as powerful as Hisoka, and they were clearly in cahoots. Friends, even, or as close to friendship as people that fucked up could be. They actually reminded her faintly of Gon and Killua: Hisoka was unpredictable and garishly dressed, and Illumi was, well, an assassin. _Hypocrite_ , she hissed. _I thought assassins couldn’t have friends?_

Across the way, Gon, Leorio, and Kurapika were gathered, discussing something in earnest. If she wanted to use God’s Alms on them, she’d have to ingratiate herself, so she approached.

“Hi, I’m Tyrin,” she said, offering a small smile. “Kurapika, Leorio, and Gon, right?”

“Yup, that’s us! Nice to meet you,” Gon chirped. His intense anger at Illumi had dissipated, and he was once again the chipper optimist she’d come to know.

“What are you guys up to, now that you’ve passed the exam?”

“We’re going to find Killua!”

Tyrin blinked. “How’re you gonna do that?”

“Illumi said he probably went home. They live on some big mountain…Kokoro? Cuckoo?”

“Kukuroo Mountain,” Kurapika supplied.

“Yeah, that!”

_Kukuroo Mountain, home to a family of assassins_ , Tyrin thought. She tucked that morsel of information away for later. “Well, good luck! I didn’t get to introduce myself to Killua,” _since he wouldn’t fucking fight me_ , “but I hope he’s okay.” She pulled out her brand-new Hunter license. “Here, take my license number as contact info. If you guys ever need help, or you’re in Yorknew City—that’s where I live—hit me up.”

When she mentioned Yorknew, Kurapika’s dark eyes widened fractionally. _Curious_. He didn’t say anything, so after they wrote down her info, she bid them goodbye and returned to the courtyard. She didn’t want to tag along with them to Killua and Illumi’s home—she didn’t trust herself not to slaughter the entire wretched family in Killua’s honor—but moreover, she was confident she’d see them again. Besides, there was a much more slippery specimen to snare.

Hisoka was by himself now, no sign of Illumi. Tyrin approached cautiously, trying to decide what personality would make him the most amicable. _If that’s even possible_.

“Congrats on passing,” she said. _Match his energy_. “I heard you got kicked out for killing an examiner last year.”

One narrow gold eye slid open to see who was talking to him. Upon seeing Tyrin’s utterly unassuming figure, it slid closed again. He remained silent, ignoring her. Her eye twitched.

“Okay, ignore me.” He looked content to do just that. _That’s it_. “You know, I’m really gonna enjoy watching Gon get you back. Punch the makeup right off your face.”

_That_ piqued his interest. Both his eyes opened, and he turned his head to stare right at her, his features balanced between mild surprise and amusement. “Oh, it seems little Gon and I had an audience,” he purred. “Which one of us were you following?”

“You.” Tyrin shifted her weight, crossing her arms casually. “Did you know how boring you are? Gon sat in a bush for _hours_ waiting for an opening, and you didn’t even notice.” She held his gaze. “I almost attacked you just to get the ball rolling.”

Ah, she could feel a little spike in bloodlust at that.

“Mmm,” he…moaned? “Gon is like unripe fruit. He’s going to be _powerful_ one day.” He was almost salivating, _ew_. “You on the other hand…” A clawed hand shot out, gripping her chin. “Nothing special.”

Tyrin was _boiling_. _This man has one thing and it’s the_ audacity, she fumed. _The patronizing, arrogant, sexy auda—whoa there, one of those things is not like the others_. She put a pin in it. _We’ll unpack that later. For now…_

“Oh no, the bloodthirsty clown doesn’t think I’m special!” She pulled her head from his (slightly sticky?) hand, hanging it in exaggerated woe. “He got his badge snatched by a twelve-year-old and he couldn’t detect my presence even though I was watching him for _days_ , but in his _professional opinion_ I’m not special. How _ever_ will I cope?”

He was smiling now, almost cheerfully, but she could feel his aura simmering. She knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t resist pushing one more button. Reaching out, she patted his painted cheek, making sure to smear his blue teardrop. “Rein it in, _honey_ , your bloodlust is showing,” she said sweetly. _Any second now…_

Nothing. He didn’t move, didn’t swat her hand away or attempt to harm her. Just continued smiling away. _Suspicious_.

As she drew her hand away, Tyrin sensed a subtle shift in his aura. It flowed down his arm and out through his index finger, the one on his left hand, which had moments before been clasping her chin—oh. _Oh_. What a sneaky bastard. Tyrin chided herself for neglecting to use gyo, playing off her discovery to feign ignorance. He still thought he had the upper hand. _Not for long_.

She turned to leave, and he crooked the finger that was attached to her, trying to jerk her head back to him. Engaging ken, she grabbed at the air between them, enclosing her fist around the sticky aura that hung there, and _pulled_. She took an ultra-high-def, 4K mental picture of Hisoka’s face: eyes wide, makeup smudged, lips parted. He stumbled forward, righting himself immediately, but Tyrin knew she’d won. She pulled the aura again, this time away from herself, detaching it from her chin. Releasing ken, she patted Hisoka’s chest as she strolled past him.

“Next time you want to make me all sticky, ask first,” she whispered coyly. She could feel his lust—for blood as well as other things—surge, and she kept her defenses high until she had cleared the courtyard, ducking around a corner to catch her breath. _Girl what the HELL was that???_ She crouched, mind racing.

That was not how that encounter was supposed to go at _all_. She was supposed to figure out where Hisoka was headed so she could follow him and use God’s Alms, not give herself away and spark a weird sexual flame! Was her brain deteriorating too? The hand she’d used ken with throbbed arthritically, as if to say, _forget your brain, I’m still falling apart!_ She massaged the joints, pondering what to do next.

On the bright side, she’d most likely put herself at the top of Hisoka’s list of Interesting People, so maybe he’d come back to her of his own volition. Based on everything she’d learned about him so far—his indifference to those he deemed weak, his considerable fighting and nen skills, his immense bloodlust—she posited that he was a violence junkie. Loved to fight, but only when it was a challenge, and he liked to play with his food before he ate it. That nen ability he’d used, sticking his aura to her so he could pull her back at his leisure like a sadistic spider, was perfectly suited to him.

“Now, if I craved challenging fights, where would I go?” she wondered aloud. After giving herself away as a nen user, it didn’t seem prudent to try following Hisoka around (especially with the exit she’d made…she’d left his jaw hanging open but at what cost?). He’d probably be on high alert for her now, wouldn’t make the same mistake of not sensing her presence again.

Besides, she had just come to an educated guess where he might be headed.


	3. Chapter 3

“Welcome to Heaven’s Arena!”

The endless tower made the one from the Hunter Exam look like a skyscraper for ants. Tyrin tuned out the tour guide nearby, already familiar with the format. This was where she’d trained Rityn’s body to perfection, after all. Of the two hundred and fifty floors, the top fifty were the main event, where the strongest fighters gathered, and the cream of _that_ crop got entire floors to themselves; the 243rd floor used to be hers, five years ago. This place was a perfect arrangement for someone like—

“—Hisoka!”

_I love being right_.

Tyrin peered around the mass of tourists. A couple of guys were gathered in front of a TV, pointing up at it. On the screen was none other than Hisoka, his picture next to someone else’s, with a big “VS” in-between and a bunch of dramatic flames along the bottom of the display.

“He just got here last week but he’s already at the 190th floor,” one of the guys said, clearly in awe.

So, he’d been there a week, and already advanced that far. Tyrin wasn’t surprised—Hisoka was a colony of _E. coli_ and this arena was a head of romaine lettuce. He was in his element. She might’ve witnessed his meteoric rise if she hadn’t been waylaid for several days by the strain of the Hunter Exam hitting her like a fucking truck. She’d been able to get within the city limits but had had to drag herself to the nearest lodgings and collapse. Even now, her body ached something fierce, and despite having slept for twenty-four consecutive hours at one point, her eye bags were just as pronounced (if not worse). She was seriously considering starting to wear concealer—maybe Hisoka would have a good recommendation.

She focused back on the TV.

Saturday, April 12th at 7 pm: Hisoka vs. Ijinka. That was today. Tyrin glanced at the clock; it was nearly four in the afternoon, too early to go back to the hotel, even if her tired body doth protest. She floundered, unsure what to do with three hours of free time—a nap sounded _really_ good just then—but her mind was made up for her when a voice whispered _right_ in her ear.

“Following me again? You’re lucky I love being watched.”

She whipped around, clutching her affected ear, now lightly moistened with another person’s breath, _gag._

“Have you ever been normal in your life or were you born this creepy?” she spat, glaring at the clown. He’d changed his clothes from the light blue outfit with puffy sleeves and jester shoes. Now he wore a black, sleeveless top (his arms were _quite_ nice… _why am I noticing this_???), white pants, and a pair of eggplant heels that made him tower over her even further. She liked this outfit much better, not that it was something she had an opinion about, or anything. Looking at his face, which bore a mischievous smile (she was beginning to realize that that was his default expression), she noticed his star and teardrop were different colors too. _Again with the irrelevant information_!

“I’m going to assume you’re here to see my fight,” he said, ignoring her jab. “But you’re here much too early. Come up to my room, help me warm up.”

Tyrin was floored ( _ha,_ she thought miserably). She wished she could hit pause on this moment, sit on the floor, and figure out how the fuck she got here. Some voice from Rityn’s childhood popped into her brain— _Stranger Danger!_ —but she had opened this door with that absolutely _wild_ display in the courtyard, and she needed someone as powerful as Hisoka on her roster when the time came.

“Well, my hotel’s kinda far, so sure, why not,” she conceded. She didn’t really trust Hisoka, but maybe if she immediately and dramatically passed out on his bed he’d just leave her be—she was still very much in the mood for a nap.

The elevator ride to the 190th floor was quiet. Tyrin tried to muster up the persona that she’d conjured during their last encounter, but she didn’t have the energy to play that game, so she had to settle for trying to interpret the fluctuations in Hisoka’s aura. Right then, he seemed calm: He was using ten, as always, but his aura floated around him; it wasn’t sharp, or any more menacing than usual.

They had reached his floor. He politely allowed her to exit first, although she wasn’t so keen on having her back to him. She let him move ahead under the guise of letting him lead the way to his room, which was at the end of the hall. Opening the door, he stood aside for her to go in first, again strangely polite. Tyrin wasn’t sure what his ploy was, but he had definitely struck her as more of the animalistic type, and not remotely gentlemanly.

Once inside, he sat gracefully on the edge of his bed, patting the sheets next to him. She sat beside him, still wary of how slowly and, well, _normally_ he was taking all of this. She opened her mouth to say something, but he put a clawed finger to her lips.

“You look like shit.”

He said it so flirtatiously it took her a second to be insulted.

“Is that your idea of dirty talk?” she deadpanned, trying to push his hand away, movements so slow she couldn’t even lay a finger on him.

“Dirty talk?” She could see mirth in his eyes. He was fucking with her. “Oh, is that what you thought I meant?” He _laughed_. She was gonna fucking kill him.

“Sorry, what the fuck else would you mean by ‘help me warm up’?”

“Well, you’re somebody I’m interested in fighting, and today’s opponent is not, so being near you before fighting him might’ve gotten me more excited about it.” He tapped a finger under each of his eyes, obscuring his face paint. “But you don’t look up to it. You really do look like shit.”

Tyrin glared at him before heaving a sigh, giving up on being mad. He was right. Infuriatingly, condescendingly _right_. She was still exhausted from the Hunter Exam, and it was taking her longer than ever to recover; she barely had the energy to be in the same room with Hisoka, much less anything like what had happened last time.

“Well, aren’t you perceptive. Sorry I can’t be your…fighting muse or whatever. Maybe if you let me take a nap for a few hours I could be more useful.” She looked at his face again and thought better of it. “Actually, I take that back, I don’t trust you enough to sleep anywhere near you.”

“A nap? I can amuse myself for a couple hours. Make yourself at home,” he responded, leaving her on the bed and striding to the door. “I’ll be back at six. Sweet dreams,” he cooed. _Gross_.

Tyrin sat for a few minutes longer, fully expecting him to sneak back in the room as soon as she closed her eyes. But the door remained closed. Still wary, she carefully maneuvered onto her back, jostling the pillow into a comfortable position and placing her head where she could still see the door. She lay there, staring at the door and contemplating what the fuck was going on between her and the clown, eyelids growing heavy, until finally sleep overtook her.

* * *

In her dream, she was back in her homeland—not Rityn’s, but Something’s. The dark forest she was formed in, where all manner of magical beast roamed, ruled by her kind. She floated past the deep purple trees, a cloud, only forming appendages when she reached the edge of her home territory. Walking forward on smoky limbs, she was greeted by whispers. Her kin were murmuring amongst themselves, casting glances at her and hastily moving away as she approached. At the end of the path, her father floated in the hollowed tree that served as his throne.

**_What do you think you’re doing here?_** His voice resonated in her particles.

_This is my home_.

**_Not anymore. You are not welcome._ **

The whispers had ceased as her kin eavesdropped on her banishment.

_You can’t do this._

Father drifted from the throne, growing arms and legs, looming over her.

**_Oh, offspring, I most certainly can._** He called over his wispy shoulder. **_Child, come here._**

A small cloud puttered clumsily into the field, attempting to grow limbs, but only able to stumble forward on stumpy, uneven legs. The child came to a skittering stop by her legs, bumping into them affectionately.

_Sister! Missed you!_ The child nudged her legs again, waving newly formed arm-stumps. She longed to pick the child up, but Father spoke again.

**_Child, come_ ** **here _._**

_’Kay, Father._

The child drifted to him. He picked her up, holding her so close she started to blend into him.

**_Big Sister has to go_** _,_ he said. He was looking at the child, but he was speaking to _her_. **_Isn’t that right?_**

She clenched her smoky fists.

_Right_ , she bit out. She reached out, holding one of the child’s stubby arms tenderly. _Big Sister has to leave for a while. But I’ll be back._ _I’ll always come back._

_Sister, you can’t!_ The child tried to follow her, spilling out of Father’s cold embrace. _Sister! Big Sister! Don’t leave! Don’t leave me!_

Father’s voice drowned out the child’s cries, the words spoken directly into her mind.

**_If you ever return, I will kill her. You may be my children, but I can always make more._ **

She was chilled to the bone.

A black cloud began to surround her; everywhere she turned, it was already there, swallowing the whole world, and then she was running, her manifested feet growing more and more solid with each step, until she was bursting into a bedroom and tripping over a loose floorboard, tumbling to the floor. Her body was heavy, solid, unwieldly. Her limbs, now corporeal, spilled clumsily where she lay, staring blankly at the lower half of the dirty mirror leaning against the wall. A girl stared back, through a curtain of frizzy and unkempt hair, her brown eyes flashing gold as she dragged herself forward, reaching for her reflection. The surface of the mirror rippled, distorting her into Something, and they stared at each other, leaning in, pressing their foreheads into the glass, and she breathed it in, filled her lungs with Something, overcome with the sensation of letting it in, letting it consume, letting it _become_ —

Tyrin’s eyes flew open.

“Glad you’re feeling better,” Hisoka purred. His head was tilted far to the side, a razor-thin line of blood oozing from his neck. She blinked, finally realizing her hand was extended, having shot out defensively as she sensed his presence in her sleep. He’d dodged, but her nail had still nicked him.

“How long have you been there?” she queried, retracting her hand.

“Only a few seconds,” he said. She raised a disbelieving brow. “I promise.”

She groaned, rubbing the sleep and the unpleasant dream out of her eyes. “What time is it?”

“Six o’clock, as promised.”

Her body felt somewhat more energized, but her head was still caught up in her dream.

“Well, I guess I’m more rested now, so go ahead and do…whatever it is you wanted to do.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed, stretching her arms high and arching her back. That felt _so_ good. Hisoka was giving her that smile again, the one with closed eyes and no teeth, and he swiped his thumb over the little scratch, collecting the droplet of blood.

“Hmm, you might’ve already taken care of it,” he mused, licking the droplet off his thumb obscenely. He stood from where he’d been crouched by the bed, and she got an _eyeful_.

“Agh, gross!” She held a hand up to shield her eyes. “Why are you _like_ this? Fuck, I wanna deck you so bad right now but that would probably turn you on more.” His lascivious smile confirmed it. “Move—and keep that thing away from me.”

She walked over to the mirror, intent on fixing her sleep-mussed hair. Instead, she was pulled into the dregs of her dream, watching her reflection subtly shift. For a moment, her skin was brighter, her eyes more vivid, her hair shinier. It was her, before she had started to deteriorate, and then it was gone, and her hair was limp, skin sallow, eyes dull. Hisoka was right—even after her nap, she looked like shit.

“You won’t get prettier if you look in the mirror longer.”

“You won’t make it to your fight if you keep talking.”

* * *

The fight was boring. No wonder Hisoka had sought motivation elsewhere—his opponent didn’t last two minutes. In all honesty, he wouldn’t have lasted even a second if not for the point system. He had refused a death match (smart move), so Hisoka had to earn his win the hard (read: normal) way, lest he get kicked out of the Arena for killing an unwilling party.

Tyrin let herself get carried along with the mass exodus of spectators, detaching from the crowd in the lobby and heading for the competitors’ entrance. She waited there, people-watching—maybe some other powerful people would show up, more specimens—until Hisoka emerged, pristine.

“All that hard work to warm you up for nothing,” Tyrin commented dryly.

Hisoka spread his hands. “I wasn’t expecting much, but thanks to you those two minutes weren’t quite so tedious.”

She figured that constituted a compliment. “Well, you made it to the 200th floor. Are you planning to become a Floor Master?”

“Mmm, perhaps,” he mused. “I’m really just passing time until I meet some…friends in September.”

“You have friends?” She looked him up and down. “Scratch that, you have other human beings willing to be near you?”

“Aren’t _you_ willing to be near me right now?” he retorted, lips curling. Then he shrugged. “I’m simply going along with these _friends_ so I can get the chance to fight one of them.”

“Is it another twelve-year-old?”

Was she pressing him for information, or was she just pressing his buttons? She didn’t quite know anymore.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He turned, heading for the elevator. She followed him, intrigued by this “friend” he was so interested in battling. Someone who caught Hisoka’s attention had to be worth hers too. Slipping into the car behind him, she leaned on the railing, kitty-corner so she could watch his face. He crossed his arms, closing his eyes as they ascended.

Back in his room, he stripped out of his clothes, letting them fall to the floor as he strolled to the bathroom. Tyrin pointedly avoided looking at his ass, although the brief glimpse she did see was quite nice. Even though she’d already bulldozed several boundaries by taking a nap in his bed, she opted to sit on the wooden chair by the small table, listening to the patter of the shower. Steam floated out from the open door, along with Hisoka’s voice.

“Are you going to stay the night?”

Tyrin froze. The way he said it was so ambiguous. His tone implied some innuendo, but if she was being honest, he _always_ sounded a little sultry; conversely, she had noted earlier that her hotel was a bit far, so perhaps he was just being generous. _Where is the me from last week who handled him like a pro?_ Her mind was racing, dredging up all of Rityn’s deepest insecurities— _was this flirting? What do I say? What if it’s not flirting, no one would flirt with_ me—until it was too late for her to respond, Hisoka standing right in front of her. He was dripping wet, an unreasonably small towel slung about his hips, another one hanging around his shoulders as he used the ends of it to fluff his hair, which was down for once. It curled prettily around his long neck.

“You look good with your hair down,” she blurted. _Smooth_.

He hummed, pulling the towel over his head to dry his hair more thoroughly, and her gaze became full of muscular arms and an _extremely_ muscular torso and a _ridiculously_ muscular pair of thighs and— “Stop staring, you’re making me blush.”

Tyrin quickly averted her gaze, although she was entirely sure she was the only one blushing. She felt like a teenager again, imbalanced by both hormones and inhuman possession. _Ah, puberty_. Hisoka turned from his dresser, clad in a white pajama set printed with tiny hearts and spades—she really admired his commitment to the bit.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he drawled, sitting on the bed. “Are you going to stay the night?”

She still didn’t have a good answer. All the energy went out of her, and she sagged in her chair. He was such an exhausting person to keep up with, and her earlier nap didn’t help as much as she thought it did, and her hotel _was_ far…she sighed deeply.

“Let me just make it clear: Are you asking me to stay in this room and sleep in the same bed as you, or are you asking if I want to have sex with you?”

He hummed again, tapping a finger to his lips, his golden eyes curving into amused crescents. “That’s the second time today you’ve read too far into something I said,” he said, fixing his eyes on her. “Now why is that?” She glared at him from where she was slumped on the back of the chair.

“You were hard as a rock when I woke up from my nap.” she deadpanned. “Just answer the question, I’m too tired to play games with you.”

“You’re no fun.” He finally looked away from her, settling himself under the covers. “Sleep in the same bed as me, or don’t. I won’t touch you,” he said over his shoulder. “You would be boring in bed now anyway, although the glare I can feel you carving into my back is quite thrilling.”

Tyrin huffed, insulted, wearily trying to formulate a comeback (because she couldn’t just let a comment like that _go_ ), when Hisoka spoke again.

“Get some rest and then ask me again.”

* * *

The trudge back to her hotel had given Tyrin a lot of time to think. Whatever was developing between her and Hisoka was dangerous, partly because it was _Hisoka_ , and partly because it was a distraction. She was existing on borrowed time, and an…an… _entanglement_ with a sexy deranged clown was not conducive to extending her life. It might even be directly detrimental. But she had to admit, it was heady, being desirable, and her mixed-up hormonal emotions weren’t helping. He’d said to ask him again, when she was well-rested and able to be a match for him. The human parts of her were screaming— _He’s into you! He’s hot! He’s DTF!_ —but the inhuman parts were more discerning— _He’s only into your power, not_ you.

_No, no, he was being polite, waiting for us to be up to it!_ her human side asserted.

_No, he’s attracted to power, and we’re essentially powerless right now._ the inhuman side refuted.

The tug-of-war was sucking the remaining energy out of her; she collapsed onto her bed immediately, staring up at the ceiling. A realization struck her, making her groan: She hadn’t even gotten more information on Hisoka’s “friends”. Her whole reason for following him back to his room, forgotten, in the face of Puberty 2: The Fuckening. Being around him was hard enough when she felt fully lucid, like last week, but this strange, sudden tidal wave of _feeling,_ on _top_ of her exhaustion, made it virtually impossible.

She didn’t know how to proceed.

Tyrin had followed him to Heaven’s Arena to keep tabs on him, and perhaps procure some more leads, which he’d hinted at, but now she was stuck. She could stay near him until he met his friends, but that was months away, and it seemed risky to be around him, unadulterated, for so long. Her eyelids were drooping, and her body felt immensely heavy; she decided to put a pin in this ( _pin…I wonder how things are going at Illumi and Killua’s house_ , she thought drowsily) until the morning, letting sleep envelop her for the second time that day.

* * *

The morning came all too soon. The rest Hisoka had prescribed and she desperately needed evaded her—her head had been full of more dreams, reminders of her failures, past and future. Her heart ached for that child she had left behind, and her head throbbed with what lay ahead of her. Changing into her plain clothes and washing her face, she set out for Heaven’s Arena again.

Outside, it was sunny and warm, a fine spring day, and she breathed in the crisp air to clear her head. The long walk to the arena, as she’d learned last night, was a good time to think, so she focused on her most immediate problem: what to do until September. She had decided to follow Hisoka to his meeting, resolved to find out who had piqued his bloodlust, but the interim was still up in the air. Truly, the more she thought about it, the more she was resigned to hanging around the arena—if she didn’t, Hisoka might up and vanish, and she’d be up shit’s creek.

An idea popped into her head.

She walked out of a store a half-hour later, new cellphone in hand. Weaseling contact info out of Hisoka as a backup shouldn’t be too hard. That stitched up one hole in her plan, but the biggest one remained: how to stay neutral. She sucked in a breath as she stepped into the shadow of the Arena. _Take it one day at a time_.

It wasn’t even noon yet, and matches weren’t due to start until then, so the building was relatively empty. On one of the large TVs was the day’s fight schedule, sans Hisoka. That made sense—he’d been on the 190th floor yesterday, and his win last night would’ve taken him to the 200th, where fights could be as far apart as ninety days. If he wasn’t in the mood, he could defer his fight until someone interesting came along. Tyrin might not need to worry about losing track of him—he might hang around for worthwhile fights, since the 200th floor and up were full of nen users. It was an unspoken requirement to be on those floors, she remembered. But that also meant Hisoka wouldn’t be in his room—he’d have been moved into one of the lavish upper rooms. She frowned, heading for the elevator, unsure if she’d be allowed onto the floor without his escort.

The elevator stopped on 200, opening up onto a nice hallway lined with plush red carpet and gold-painted walls. She stepped out, glancing left and right, trying to decide which way to go. She gently felt with her en, trying to sense Hisoka in one of the rooms nearby, when a concierge appeared in front of her.

“Excuse me miss, you can’t be on this floor if you are not a resident.”

“Oh, um, I’m sorry—I’m looking for a resident?” she offered, hoping it would fly. It didn’t.

“Miss, as I said—”

“Well, I used to be the Floor Master on the 243rd floor, can’t I visit for old time’s sake?” She winced internally—that was such a shitty excuse, and she really didn’t want to play the “don’t you know who I am” card, but she was saved by another aura entering her still-searching en from behind.

“Oh, a former Floor Master?” Hisoka sounded intrigued. “She’s with me.” He waved off the concierge, who eyed them suspiciously before plodding back to his desk. Hisoka walked past her, further down the hallway, clearly expecting her to follow.

His new quarters were at the end of the long hall, a corner room with a large bed, kitchenette, and spacious bathroom. Pretty sweet setup, but nothing compared to the Floor Masters’ rooms Tyrin remembered. Hisoka motioned for her to sit.

“So, you’ve returned.”

She perched cautiously on the edge of a kitchen chair. “Well, there’s not much else to do here.” There was a bowl of fruit on the table. She snatched a banana, peeling it for something to do with her hands. He watched her, following the tip of the banana into her mouth with his sly eyes.

_This was a poor choice of fruit_ , she thought.

“Floor Master, hmm,” he mused, still watching her eat. “When was that?”

“Five years ago.” She laid the empty peel on the table. “I was on the 243rd floor.” His eyebrow quirked, eyes flitting up to hers.

“Fighting you would have been _so_ exciting,” he said, eyes keen. He looked hungry, but not for fruit. “I wonder who would have won?” He didn’t sound like he was wondering at all.

“I would’ve kicked your ass,” she snorted, searching for the trash can.

Her first mistake was turning her back.

Her second mistake was getting comfortable with Hisoka.

In two seconds flat he had her bent over the small peninsula, face pressed into the stone, his large, clawed hand splayed over her nape. She could feel the strength in his arm, holding her in place, and his hips caged hers, pinning her. Her heart was beating out of her chest, mind going a mile a minute, giving her 20/20 hindsight—she should’ve been faster. Her reflexes from yesterday, when she’d nearly slit his throat in her _sleep_ , were nowhere to be seen. Shouldn’t have turned her back or left herself open like this—the man was a murderer who sought violence for fun. _Stupid, stupid, stupid, buck him off!_ She wriggled under him, tried to push up onto her hands, but he easily overpowered her.

With what little leverage she had gotten, she turned her head, smushing her cheek into the cold counter so she could see his face. He was smiling. _Smiling_. That lit a fury within her. He was playing with her. He’d probably been waiting to do this since she’d bested him in the courtyard, wearing down her defenses until she opened herself up to him. And she had. Like a fucking fool, she’d let herself get all flustered by him, let her control slip. And now here she was, bent over in front of him, beginning to bleed where his sharp nails pricked her skin, staring into his mirthful eyes like an indignant chicken in the jaws of a sly fox. He was motionless, seemingly waiting for her next retaliation. Tyrin sensed intrigue in his flickering aura. He was…he was _testing_ her. _This incorrigible motherfucker_.

Testing a theory, she tried to move one arm behind her to grasp his, hoping to break it, but he immediately bent it painfully, securing her hand under his on her nape. The position felt familiar, although Hanzo hadn’t seemed so delighted about it. Well, she could confirm using her hands wouldn’t get her anywhere, and her legs were trapped between his and the cabinets, so she only had one option left: Go nuclear.

Closing her eyes, she shifted her head again, pressing her forehead into the cool stone. The colors behind her eyelids came into focus, brightening, and her natural eyes snapped open. She focused her energy into her pinned hand, keeping her nen in a neutral state but preparing for ken.

First, a decoy. She moved her free hand, grabbing at his arm again, and as he moved his own unoccupied hand to intercept her, she closed her upturned fingers around the hand around her nape and jerked her arm to the side, pulling his top half sideways and dislocating her elbow. Before he could react, she jabbed her other, ken-covered elbow back into his jaw, using the momentum to twist herself to face him, carefully keeping her head downcast so her bangs fell in her eyes. He was briefly stunned—a knock to the jaw will do that—and she took advantage of his disorientation to grip him by the throat, hoist him a few inches off the ground, and chokeslam him into the floor.

Keeping her hand around his neck, she straddled him, head bent so he couldn’t see her eyes. With her natural aura already exposed, it was as good a time as any to bestow God’s Alms. Pressing her thumb into the hollow of his throat, she channeled her aura into the spot, and when she moved her finger, **愛** glowed faintly.

As the symbol of her favor faded and disappeared, she felt that same sticky feeling from their first confrontation again, this time on the back of her neck. Just as she sensed it, he sent her a wicked smile, and crooked his finger from where it lay on the floor. She reached up with ken on her free hand to pull the sticky aura off, but not before her head was jerked back, briefly jolting her bangs away from her eyes. Hisoka’s own widened a fraction, clearly startled by the sudden appearance of smoke and gold instead of plain brown, before she clamped her (now sticky) hand over her eyes, turning them back to normal. As her natural power left her, the hand around Hisoka’s pale throat loosened, but she didn’t let go.

“Oh my,” he croaked, swallowing against her hand. She could feel his pulse against her fingertips. “That was even better than I had expected.” He had landed flat on the floor, but now he brought his knees up behind her, pelvis pressing into her ass. _Surprise_.

“I would threaten to kill you if you ever pull something like that again,” she leaned over him, pushing her hips back into his, “but I think that’s exactly what you want.” The boldness from their first encounter was back, and it was better than ever. She lounged on top of him, placing her forearm on his chest and resting her weight on it.

Big mistake.

She screamed, letting go of his throat to clutch her elbow, which was on fire with pain. She had registered its dislocation as it happened, but the pain was delayed until after her eyes returned to normal, and it came with a _vengeance._ Hunching in agony, she fought the tears welling in the corners of her eyes. Keeping it bent underneath her hurt like hell, but when she tried to move it to a better position, it was so excruciating she collapsed onto Hisoka’s chest, panting heavily and shaking. Dazed, she barely registered the touch of his hand on her wrist.

In a flash, he gripped her forearm in one hand and her bicep in the other, wrenching her elbow back into alignment. She screamed again, curling protectively around her arm and glaring at him through wet eyes.

“All better.” He smiled at her, crossing his arms behind his head. Shakily getting to her feet, she stood over him, still cradling her elbow.

“Fuck you.” She turned to leave, pausing to stomp her foot right on his erection. He moaned, less hurt and more turned on, but she didn’t care. Her elbow was on fire and she was still reeling from the whole encounter, and to make matters worse, he’d seen her natural eyes, and she didn’t want to stick around for him to ask questions. She stumbled to the door, reaching for the handle before pausing again. Sighing, she fished her new phone out of her pocket (a feat in itself, considering it was on the same side as her bad arm) and hurled it at Hisoka, who caught it easily.

“Put your number in there.” His eyebrows began to knit in a lie. “Don’t even think about it. I know you text Illumi.”

Hisoka hummed, deftly entering his digits with one hand, before tossing it back to her. He’d saved his contact as _Hisoka_ ♥. She eyed him derisively where he lay on the cracked floor tiles, nonchalant despite just having been choke-slammed and cock-stomped. His throat was beginning to bruise with the imprint of her hand, and he scratched the marks lightly with a nail before wiggling his fingers at her.

“Bye-bye,” he drawled. “See you at my fight on Thursday.” Her lip curled in disgust, and she reached for the door handle again.

“…What time.”


	4. Chapter 4

It had been several weeks since her strange confrontation with Hisoka. She’d gone to the eight matches he’d deigned to participate in, where he smoked his opponents so easily it wasn’t worth watching anymore. He’d skipped three, and so he was two wins away from challenging a Floor Master, and one loss (or rather, forfeit) from having to start all over. Now he was flat-out refusing fights, stretching out his ninety-day grace period, and she didn’t know why. They hadn’t spoken—her elbow was still sore, and she didn’t know what to say anyway—but their weird, wary stasis was broken by the arrival of two new competitors.

Gon and Killua had entered Heaven’s Arena yesterday, participating in the placement fight and immediately rising to the 50th floor. Today, they were signing up for one match after another, advancing quickly into the triple digit floors. Tyrin caught them on their way back to the registration desk.

“Gon, Killua!” she called out, waving. They turned, Killua coolly surprised and Gon bursting with delight. He really was a simple kid.

“Tyrin!” Gon bounded over, dragging Killua along. “What are you doing here?”

_Developing a weird relationship with Hisoka_. “Oh, you know, just watching fights and passing time,” she said instead, shrugging. Killua’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t say anything. “What about you guys? Where are Kurapika and Leorio?”

“Leorio is studying to be a doctor, and Kurapika didn’t tell us what he’s doing but we’re gonna see them both in September!” Gon responded, adjusting his backpack. His fishing rod stuck out of it like a massive antenna.

“Well, I’m sad I missed them.” Tyrin looked at Killua, eyes widening. “Oh, Killua, how are _you_ doing? Is—is everything okay?”

He shrugged noncommittally. “C’mon Gon, we have to register for our next fight.” He strolled away, towing Gon, who waved at her.

“See you later, Tyrin!”

She waved back, a little annoyed that Killua wasn’t more responsive, even though she knew it wasn’t really any of her business. But her focus turned elsewhere: Gon had said they and the others were meeting again in September, which was also when Hisoka and his “friends” were gathering. A memory from the Exam resurfaced, from Kurapika and Hisoka’s match—he’d whispered something into the kid’s ear. A secret. And now Kurapika and Hisoka both had plans to be somewhere in September. The connection was tenuous, but perhaps she could fill in the blanks. Steeling herself, she got in the elevator and headed for Hisoka’s floor.

Tyrin hesitated, ready to knock, but she didn’t need to. He’d sensed her aura.

“Come in,” he called.

She turned the handle, opening the door to see him in the middle of changing, torso clad in his pink undershirt and arms halfway into his black crop top. He pulled it over his head, turning to look at her.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” he purred, smoothing his hair back into place. “What brings you here?”

It was easier than she expected to slip back into their old rhythm. “Gon and Killua are here. They’re already on the 120th floor.”

“I know.” He slid his bicep bands up his arm, chuckling softly. “It’s so easy to track people through the internet these days.”

Tyrin raised an eyebrow. “Is that why you’ve deferred your fights? You’re waiting for them to get up here?” He adjusted his wrist band, flexing his fingers.

“Perhaps, but they aren’t ready to face me. They don’t even know how to use nen yet.” Slipping his heels on, he crossed the room, reaching around her for the door handle. “I’m going to go watch their next match.” The invitation was unspoken. She followed him down to the 120th floor arena, where they took their seats. On the platform, Killua stood across from another kid, smaller, with such bushy eyebrows Tyrin could see them clear as day from the balcony seats.

Their fight began like any other, sizing each other up. Killua seemed relaxed—the other kid probably wasn’t trained in assassination from birth, so he likely wasn’t going to be hard to beat. Zipping into his personal space, Killua landed a swift chop on the back of the kid’s neck, sending him to his knees. But to Killua’s surprise, he got back to his feet, again and again. He withstood at least a dozen knockdowns, preventing Killua from scoring points by staggering to his feet each time. The last time he rose to his feet, he took a wide stance, drawing his aura in and engaging ren.

Even from up high, Tyrin could see Killua’s eyes go wide. He stumbled back a step, just like he had when facing Illumi weeks ago. The ren shook him, even though it was emanating from a kid who couldn’t be more than three feet tall and ten years old, and Tyrin chuckled. _Wait until he gets to the 200 th floor._

A scolding shout from the stands below broke the kid’s concentration, and he released his ren with a jolt. Killua, still a trained fighter, took advantage of the momentary lapse to send the kid flying out of the ring, securing his victory, though he still looked rattled. Tyrin rose from her seat, exiting the arena with Hisoka trailing behind her.

“Looks like Killua is about to discover nen,” she commented, pressing the button for the elevator. Hisoka hummed, slipping around her into the car. She was about to follow him in when some white fluff caught her eye. “I’ll come up later, I’m going to greet the victor,” she tossed over her shoulder. Hisoka merely blinked as the doors closed on him. She turned back toward Killua, who had stopped with Gon to talk to his opponent.

“Zushi, what was that thing you did?” Killua questioned. The kid—Zushi apparently—assumed a reporting stance, gripping the cloth of his uniform belt.

“It’s ren, one of the four foundational principles of nen,” he recited. “I focused my aura, pushing it out—”

“Whoa, whoa, hold on!” Killua stopped him. Steam was coming out of Gon’s ears, and Killua himself looked completely lost. “What are you talking about? Nen?”

“Zushi, we talked about this,” said a man, walking up behind the kid and resting a hand on his shoulder. He addressed Gon and Killua. “I can teach you two about nen. You’ll need to know how to use it if you want to go further in the Arena.” The kids exchanged a look, before nodding excitedly and following the man and Zushi out of the building. Tyrin hung back, debating whether to follow them, but Killua already seemed a little suspicious of her, so she erred on the side of caution, heading for the elevator.

* * *

Back in Hisoka’s room, she was once again waiting for him to finish showering. Steam filtered out of the open bathroom door as she sat in the plush armchair by his bed, contemplating her next move.

She had two threads to follow: the September meeting that could possibly be connected to Kurapika, and Gon and Killua’s nen training. The latter had just begun, though she was interested in what Hisoka might have to say about them; but in the end, it was already the middle of June, and she decided the mysterious meeting was more pressing. As she averted her eyes from Hisoka’s wet form—he hadn’t even bothered with a modesty towel this time—she tried to broach the subject.

“You know, when I ran into Gon and Killua earlier, they told me they had plans to meet up with Kurapika again in September.” She chanced a glance between her fingers. Nope, still naked. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“Hmm, now what makes you think I would know?” He opened his dresser, pulling out a fresh pair of pants and slipping them on his bare lower half. Unsolicited Hisoka Fact Number 44: He likes to go commando. Lovely.

“Well,” she started, trying to avoid thinking too much about his lack of underwear, “you _did_ whisper something in Kurapika’s ear at the end of the Exam, and you _are_ also attending a meeting in September…I think that adds up to something, but you tell me.” She dropped her hand from her eyes, staring quizzically into his golden ones.

He smiled at her again, that vulpine curl of his lips. “Perhaps the people I’m meeting are of interest to Kurapika as well.” Then he shrugged, crossing to the bed and stretching out on top of the sheets. They stayed there in silence, and he spoke again just when Tyrin had decided to leave.

“I was told not to tell anyone about this meeting,” he drawled, gazing up at the ceiling. “But I already told Kurapika, so I suppose I can tell you too…for a price.”

Tyrin looked at his relaxed form, suspicious. She knew damn well he wasn’t interested in money. “Name it.”

“Well, it’s a two-installment payment.” He rolled onto his side, propping his head in his hand. “First, I want to know about your eyes and what you did to my neck.” _Fuck, he remembered_. “Second, I want to you to finish what you started.” A finger wandered to his neck, stroking lightly. He lay there, methodically running that finger back and forth over his pale throat, hypnotic. Tyrin swallowed, tearing her eyes away to look at his face. _Get it together you horny fool._

“First part, no can do. You understand, keeping your cards close to your chest,” she said, gesturing at the stack of literal cards on the bedside table. “Second part…” She considered him carefully. “Okay. But don’t touch my elbow again or I’ll break your neck.”

“Promise?” He smiled cheekily, rolling onto his back.

“Shut up,” she huffed, and climbed onto the bed, resuming her position from all those weeks ago. She closed her hand around his throat again (carefully avoiding her mark), using all her human strength to cut off the chuckle that had begun to escape his lips. He was struggling to breathe already, hips bucking up beneath her and pressing into her ass, but she was distracted from him by a forlorn thought: Just a few years ago, she could’ve snapped his neck with one hand. Now, all her strength could only cut his air supply, and her hand already ached. She felt frail in that moment, her grip going slack and allowing him to take a gasping breath. He regarded her balefully, flushed cheeks faintly visible underneath his makeup.

“This—” he sucked in another breath, “this isn’t gonna cut it.” His voice crackled, grating her nerves.

“Shut _up_ ,” she hissed, grabbing him by the hair and wrenching his head back. He moaned whorishly, and she could feel his erection twitch against her. “If my body wasn’t fucking falling apart, I could’ve snapped your pretty neck like a fucking _twig_.” She pulled his head closer, digging her nails into his scalp. “Now finish rutting like a good little slut and tell me what I wanna know.”

He obeyed, sinking his claws into her thighs as he drove his hips up, but she could tell one last threat would be necessary to put him over the edge. Glancing around, her eyes alighted on the deck of cards. She snatched the top one—a joker, how fitting—and strengthened it with nen. Baring his neck with the grip on his hair, she held the razor-sharp edge of the card to his skin, drawing a thin line of blood.

That did it.

Hisoka’s hips jerked up violently, almost unseating her, one of his hands squeezing her wrist. His golden eyes rolled back, and she could feel his aura flare, uninhibited. His exhilaration was contagious; she wrestled with her desire, but caution won. As he came down, she moved off the bed, tossing the bloodstained card back onto the pile and taking advantage of his lapse in attention to calm herself. He lay there, catching his breath, a light trail of blood cascading down his neck and the curve of his shoulder. When his eyes opened and refocused, she stared at him expectantly.

“Hmm,” Hisoka hummed, rolling onto his side again. He slipped a finger in the waistband of his pants, lifting it to see the damage. “You made good—” a few drops of semen drizzled over the edge of his pants onto the sheets, “— _very_ good on the payment, so I’ll let you take out a loan on the first part.” He grinned at her, letting his waistband snap back onto his skin. “I’ll tell you who, what, or where. Pick one.”

Tyrin eyed the cumstain with disdain. She had to consider her options carefully: The wrong choice might saddle her with useless intel, and she wasn’t about to have done _that_ for nothing. At first, _where_ seemed like the best option—knowing that, she could figure out _who_ and _what_. However...when she’d mentioned that she lived in Yorknew City (sort of true—that’s the last place she’d stayed for any length of time), Kurapika had reacted. The wheels of her brain turned. Was Kurapika going to meet with Gon and the others in Yorknew City? And if Hisoka’s secret whisper had been to tell him to be there, then Hisoka would also be there, and so would his “friends”. It was a long shot, but she decided to assume it was correct, rather than waste her one question to confirm it.

That left _who_ and _what_. Between the two, _who_ intrigued her more. She was collecting powerful people—it didn’t _really_ matter what they were doing as long as they could be there when she needed them in the end.

“Tell me who it is.”

Hisoka smiled.

* * *

The Phantom Troupe. Tyrin recognized the name; it dredged up some memory in her, one of Rityn’s, a faint recollection of a group of bandits from her hometown. She strained to mine more information out of her brain, but as the years wore on more and more of the memories from Rityn and Something had begun to fade. There wasn’t much worth remembering—Rityn came from a place where people suffered as often as they breathed, and Something’s memories were mostly full of pain and Father’s tyranny; but it hurt her all the same, losing these parts of herself, to make way for a new being who was probably not going to live long enough to replace the memories with her own.

She sighed, running the toe of her shoe over the cobblestones as she waited for the pedestrian light. Although she and Hisoka were on speaking terms again, she was still not keen on staying in his room even though it was convenient—she couldn’t risk the emotional rollercoaster, and he also hadn’t bothered to change the sheets after getting cum on them. _Revolting_. The light changed, and she crossed the street, head bowed in thought, until a voice pulled her out of her reverie.

“Tyrin!”

Gon and Killua were walking toward her, the former waving excitedly. Killua kept his hands in his pockets as usual, and he looked deep in thought.

“What’re you guys doing out here?”

“We were training!” Gon was practically vibrating. “We learned about nen—” Killua clamped a hand over the boy’s mouth, glancing surreptitiously between his friend and her.

“Idiot, Wing said not to tell others about it!”

Tyrin blinked. Then she started to laugh, earning a glare from Killua. _He really looks like a cat. An irritable little kitten_. “Relax, kid, I know what nen is.”

Gon spoke, garbled, through Killua’s hand. Killua yanked it away, wiping the spit off on his shorts. “You can use nen?”

“Yeah, and so can Killua’s brother,” she responded. “That’s how he was able to change his face. It’s his hatsu, or one of them.” Killua’s eyes sharpened.

“Aha! I knew Wing was lying,” he said triumphantly. “He told us about the four principles, but he said some stuff about meditation, nothing that would allow us to use a technique like Illumi’s.”

“What? Why would Wing lie to us?”

“I don’t know, but he’s not doing you any favors,” Tyrin answered, jerking a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the Arena. “If you’re trying to get to the top of that tower, you’re gonna need to know how to use nen.”

Gon’s eyes brightened. “Tyrin, why don’t you teach us nen!”

Tyrin waved her hands frantically, about to refuse, but she paused. If she took them under her wing ( _ha_ ), she could hit two birds with one stone—shape them into the powerful specimens she needed and keep Hisoka on her hook so he could get updates on his— _shudder_ —unripe fruit. But was she able to teach nen? She couldn’t really remember how she learned it. Something had already known how to use it and had a fully developed ability when it met Rityn, and they’d only worked to build Rityn’s abilities so Something could use her body to perform nen more efficiently. At best, she could teach Gon and Killua the basic principles, but this Wing guy seemed more qualified. Gon’s face morphed from excitement to confusion the longer she debated with herself.

“I don’t know…” she hedged. “I know how to use it, but I didn’t really learn properly—I just kinda figured it out one day.” A lie, but she couldn’t exactly tell them she learned it from an inhuman being that was now part of her. “I’m sure Wing’ll take you on as proper students if you pester him enough. He definitely knows what he’s doing, that kid wasn’t just ‘meditating’ during your fight.”

Gon pouted, but she stayed resolute, and he eventually accepted it. Killua was eyeing her suspiciously again. Maybe he knew she was lying too.

“Well, you two better get back to the Arena and get some sleep. You’ve got a long road ahead of you.” She began to move past them when her cellphone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, disregarding the picture Hisoka had just sent (the cumstain, with a finger heart next to it and the caption “my turn to be sticky♥”, _barf_ ), an idea occurring.

“Hey, I have a phone now—let me get your numbers. I’ll be hanging around the Arena for a while longer, so call me whenever.”

Gon didn’t have a phone of his own, so he had to use the puppy-dog eyes on Killua, who reluctantly added himself to her contacts. _Interesting,_ she thought. _He’ll befriend me because Gon wants to, not because he likes me. He’s going to be a tough nut to crack._ She bid them goodbye then, watching them fade into the shadows before walking the rest of the way to her hotel. She was halfway up to her room when it occurred to her to see if they had a computer in the lobby.

In the search bar she typed “Phantom Troupe”. A few articles came up, with only pictures of the carnage and none of the Troupe members. The only identifying feature that was consistent was a tattoo—a twelve-legged spider.

They’d wreaked considerable havoc: Armed robbery, murder, thievery, and a particularly gruesome tale of the slaughter of an entire clan of people who had some sort of special eyes. Nasty stuff. _Humans really evolved this far just to treat each other like this?_ Tyrin wondered, shaking her head. She really shouldn’t be surprised—Rityn’s hometown was full of despicable shit like this, and Something’s homeland was the primordial ooze, had _invented_ depravity, if Father had anything to say about it. This Troupe was just the ugliness she knew, laid bare.

So, this was the group Hisoka was set to meet in September. A group of murderous thieves. Tyrin supposed he had to be a member—they sounded like his kind of people—and if her hunch about Kurapika was correct, he was going to be in Yorknew City at the same time. Not to mention, Hisoka had said it was possible Kurapika was “interested” in the same people as him. But Hisoka was a compulsive liar, and he was clearly trying to manipulate her to some end of his own. It was a gamble: She could show up in Yorknew City and score the Phantom Troupe and Kurapika in one go, or none of them would be there, and then _she’d_ be the clown. But she was feeling confident—the evidence was only whispers and suspicions, but if push came to shove, she could always follow Hisoka. He might not even care.

Resolved, she washed up and lay in bed, the toll of her existence settling into her bones the way it did every night when she let herself get too still. The sand was trailing steadily down the hourglass of her life, but all she could do was wait for September to come.

* * *

The next few weeks were a whirlwind—for Gon and Killua, at least. They earned spots on the 200th floor just a couple days after Tyrin turned them down, and Hisoka had chosen that moment to make himself known. He’d put himself between them and the check-in desk, keeping them at bay with a powerful display of ren, and they’d only been barely saved by Wing, who finally committed to teaching them real nen. Tyrin had watched from around the corner, and although Hisoka had quieted his aura, he was still clearly affected by Gon’s arrival. His face had been his version of delighted, much like when he’d pinned her to the counter to see what she’d do, and she didn’t bother sticking around to see more.

Sometime after that, Gon and Killua had come back and triumphantly waded through Hisoka’s menacing aura, successfully taking up residence on the floor. They quickly signed up for one fight each. Gon went against some guy with a bunch of spinning tops, and he lost, badly. Towards the end he made some progress by using zetsu (consciously, this time) to avoid the tops, but he still came out of it with a loss and a broken arm. Killua fared much better—his opponent tried to electrocute him with long whips, but the kid was apparently immune to shock (Tyrin shuddered to think of how that came to be), and he made quick work of him. Wing forbade Gon from practicing nen or fighting while his arm healed, only allowing him to meditate in a state of ten. Gon took the order seriously; whenever Tyrin came to visit him, he was upright in bed, eyes closed in concentration, aura pulsing faintly.

In the middle of Gon’s recovery, Hisoka secured his ninth win.

His opponent, a man named Kastro, had lost to him a few years ago and was seeking a rematch. He’d trained for it, and Tyrin had to admit that he was impressive—she couldn’t tell what he was doing (not even Hisoka could thus far), but he’d managed to land a bevy of blows on the magician. She suspected Hisoka was allowing himself to be hit at that point, in the hopes that he’d be able to figure out Kastro’s ability, and her suspicions were confirmed when he held out his left arm.

“Take it,” he drawled, flexing it.

Kastro grit his teeth. Tyrin focused, trying to see his technique, but all she saw was a brief flash, and then Hisoka’s severed _right_ arm was airborne. The audience was in an uproar, but Hisoka himself looked pleased. He’d figured it out. His arm fell back down, and he caught it, twirling it on his finger like a severely misshapen basketball.

“Hmm, I see,” he mused, tucking the severed arm under his intact one. “You can create a double.”

“So, you’ve finally figured it out,” Kastro said. He demonstrated for the crowd: In a greenish flash, a second Kastro stood beside the first, completely indistinguishable from the original. They both resumed his special stance. “I’ll take your left arm next.”

Hisoka merely smiled, whipping out a cloth. He draped it over his detached arm, throwing the bundle into the air with a flourish. The cloth fell away, revealing a shower of playing cards. His arm was gone. _Huh?_

“Would you like to hear a magic trick?” Hisoka began dictating some lengthy instructions about picking a number and doing math, which Tyrin tuned out, knowing it was a distraction. Instead, she searched the arena for his arm. Engaging gyo, she was able to detect a fine pink strand stretching from his stump up into the shadows.

“The number you chose was one.” Hisoka reached into his arm stump, digging around in his own bloody flesh like the fucking nutjob he was, pulling out an ace. He held it up for the audience to see, and they roared in shock and disgust. “Here, a souvenir,” he said cheekily, flinging the bloody card at the original Kastro, who swatted it away angrily. A few drops of blood splattered onto his cloak.

“I’ll sever your arm so you’ll never be able to mock anyone again!” Kastro declared.

Hisoka held his arm out once more. “Didn’t you hear me? I said you can take it.”

“Then I will!”

Kastro’s double lunged forward. Tyrin focused on Hisoka, and as Kastro sliced his remaining arm off, sending the limb behind them, his right arm reappeared. The length of sticky aura connecting it to him shrunk and vanished, and the cloth from his card trick covered it, blending his arm into one piece seamlessly. She’d never seen that ability before. In fact, she hadn’t even noticed the aura connected to the cloth. Her head was beginning to hurt; she didn’t have the patience to play the kind of battle chess Hisoka was apparently fond of. It was so much easier to just go in guns blazing.

Hisoka drew his newly reattached right arm out for Kastro and the crowd to see. They went _nuts_. Kastro was so flabbergasted his double evaporated. He’d claimed to be a master of nen but hadn’t even used gyo? Tyrin clucked her tongue. Hisoka advanced on his prey, explaining to him exactly how and when he’d lost, and it sent Kastro over the edge. He manifested his double and attacked Hisoka from both sides, but he wasn’t fooled.

The fight was already over. Hisoka was merely toying with him now, showing him just how badly he’d fucked up for his own sadistic pleasure. Tyrin looked around, seeking more pink strands, and found one bouncing between Hisoka’s severed left arm on the floor, and Kastro’s chin. As Hisoka dodged the double’s punches and coolly pointed out the bloodstains on the original, Kastro lost control and charged, but he didn’t make it two steps before getting clocked in the jaw. He stumbled, disoriented; Tyrin smirked. Looks like Hisoka learned something from the Kitchen Counter Struggle.

Hisoka secured his win with a half-dozen playing cards embedded in Kastro’s chest. Snatching up his arm, he strolled off the platform and into the exit tunnel. Tyrin pushed her way through the riotous crowd, eager for a recap with Hisoka, but he was nowhere to be found. She got in the elevator, assuming he’d already gone to his room, and she was halfway down the hall when she sensed an unfamiliar presence. It was coming from his room, and she immediately engaged zetsu, sliding quietly along the wall until she was just outside his door. She pressed her ear to the wall.

“Today’s match proved it, you’re an idiot,” came a woman’s voice. Tyrin quirked an eyebrow. “I don’t know why you put yourself in danger like this.” Silence. “Well, you’re paying me, so I can’t complain.” Tyrin felt a surge of aura, sharp like needles. “I’ll start with your left arm.”

“Be gentle,” Hisoka purred.

“Starting Nen Stitches.” Was this woman fixing his arms?

“Mmm, this is always so fascinating to watch.”

“Okay, I’m done. Wire me the money.” The shuffle of footsteps as she came closer. “Fix the rest of your injuries yourself, you should be fine with your Bungee Gum and Texture Surprise.” _So that’s what he calls his abilities. They sound like candy names._

“Hmm, maybe I should cover them with Texture Surprise, so they think my arms magically healed,” Hisoka mused. He launched into a detailed explanation of how he was going to do that.

“Don’t care, didn’t ask. Just make sure you’re in Yorknew City on August 31st.”

_She must be a Troupe member._ Tyrin silently thanked her for spilling the details.

“Yes, yes. Will the boss be there?”

“Yeah, and if you don’t show up again, he won’t be happy.”

She approached the door, and Tyrin scuttled away, but not before hearing Hisoka ask the woman to dinner with him. He didn’t even get a response. Tyrin had to hold her laughter in, trying to stay hidden as the woman left his room. She was cute, with fluffy pink hair and big blue eyes, but she had major resting bitch face. Tyrin decided she liked her. Anyone who caught Hisoka’s attention and then didn’t give him the time of day was okay in her book.

After the woman had turned the corner, Tyrin knocked on Hisoka’s door, not waiting for him to respond. She strode into the room, took one look at him, and finally gave into her urge to cackle.

“Was that—” she bent over, wheezing, “was that the Troupe member you’re trying to fight?” She pressed her lips together, trying to corral her laughter. “I don’t think she likes you.” Hisoka ignored her mirth. “Well, at least she fixed your arms. She was right, you’re an idiot. You totally could’ve beaten that guy without becoming a double amputee.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“You’re so fucking weird.”

Hisoka just smiled, flexing his arms before shedding his clothes. He strode past her to the bathroom; this time she didn’t avert her eyes, taking in his back, which was adorned with a massive twelve-legged spider tattoo like the one she’d read about. On the spider’s back was a number 4.

“Have you always had that?”

Hisoka paused at the bathroom door. “Had what?”

“That giant spider tattoo. I’ve never seen it all the other times you’ve gotten naked in front of me.”

He glanced in the mirror, twisting his shoulder so he could see the tattoo.

“Hmm, I forgot to take it off.” Slipping a long nail across his shoulder blade, Hisoka peeled the spider from his back. As soon as it was off, the patch faded into a simple gray cloth like the one he’d used during his match. Hisoka shut himself inside the bathroom, and as the room filled with the muffled sound of the running shower, Tyrin pondered the discarded cloth.

Why was Hisoka wearing a fake Phantom Troupe tattoo? She had no reason to suspect he’d been lying about being a member—the pink-haired woman had pretty much confirmed he was one of them. But it didn’t sit right with her that he didn’t have the tattoo actually inked on his body; granted, the tattoo seemed cultish, and Hisoka definitely wasn’t the type to engage in shit like that, but it seemed to be more than simply not wanting to mark his body. At least, Tyrin hoped it wasn’t about that; if it was, he wasn’t gonna be too happy when she told him about God’s Alms. Then again, he had been content with the handprint she’d left around his neck—twice—and her mark came with tangible benefits… 

She was still mulling it over when he emerged from the bathroom.

“Why do you have a fake tattoo?” she asked. “That’s the Phantom Troupe’s mark, isn’t it?”

“Hmm, maybe I would tell you if you gave me the other half of your payment,” Hisoka replied, tapping a finger to his lips. Tyrin raised an eyebrow.

“You really don’t like it when you don’t have all the cards, huh?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he feigned ignorance, “I always have a full deck on me at all times.”

“You know, you’re surprisingly similar to Gon.” Hisoka blinked. “Both of you have this _uncanny_ ability to pester people to death, except Gon makes it endearing, and you just make it…insufferable.”

Hisoka pouted. “That’s mean.”

“Doesn’t make it incorrect.”

“You wound me.” He sniffed, turned away from her mock-indignantly. “I just wanted to know why your eyes changed color. That’s an unusual ability and it intrigues me.”

Tyrin sighed. “I’ll tell you when you’re older, champ.” Silence. “Seriously, I am required to explain everything one day, that day just hasn’t come yet.” She could sense a flicker in his aura at that. “Besides, if I told you anything now, you’d just wanna fight me, and I can’t. I’d die.” She held a finger up. “And no, not because you’d win, my body would just give out.”

“Oh?” Hisoka faced her again. “This isn’t the first time you’ve said something like that. What’s wrong with your body?” He sounded genuinely concerned…almost. Tyrin paused, hesitant. Giving Hisoka too many details too soon was dangerous.

But her thoughts drifted back to Gon, who Hisoka had spared more than once; he’d even said he was waiting for Gon to become more powerful. If he was as keen to fight her as he was the kid, he might be as willing to wait for her to be ready. He didn’t have to know she never would be.

“My body is…incompatible with my soul,” she started carefully. “I can’t give you all the details but I’m kinda eating myself from the inside out.” Hisoka’s eyes glittered.

“Can you move into another body?”

“I could, but I haven’t found one capable of containing me.” He quirked an eyebrow at her. Tyrin panned her hands down her body. “ _This_ used to be in peak physical condition. An absolute _specimen_. That was when I was Floor Master, eighteen years old. Now I’m twenty-three with the joints of a grandma. I was barely functional for a week after the Hunter Exam, and it’s only going to get worse.”

Hisoka moved closer, crossing his arms and bending down to inspect her up close. 

“Well, you did look like shit when you first showed up here,” he mused, circling her appraisingly. He paused a little too long behind her, and she could feel his gaze on her ass. She turned to scold him, but he kept walking, ending in front of her again. “What do you have to do to switch bodies with someone?”

“Nothing complex, I just kinda _will_ myself into their body while looking them in the eye.”

“Hmm,” Hisoka straightened, placing a hand on his hip. “Well, you might find some potential new bodies when you come to the Troupe meeting.”

“Who said I was coming to your meeting? You didn’t even tell me where it was.”

“You heard Machi say it. Leave the lying to me, you’re not very good at it.”

“Shut up.” Lying to a liar never ended well. Omitting key information on the other hand…she was having decent success with that so far. “Yorknew City, August 31st. You might as well tell me why you’re meeting at this point.”

“Mmm, no.”

“It was worth a shot.”


	5. Chapter 5

The middle of July was stiflingly hot. Gon’s arm was good as new—it had healed lickety-split, almost as if Gon had willed it better. Tyrin didn’t put it past him, honestly. He didn’t take a single day off, immediately seeking out the guy who’d broken his arm. He wiped the guy out within minutes, a far cry from their last showdown, and did the same to another opponent the following day.

Then it was time for Gon’s ultimate match: Impressed with his progress, Hisoka had finally agreed to fight the kid. They were scheduled for the coming weekend, and both of them were excited. On Gon it was obvious—the kid was like an open book—but Hisoka was much subtler: His aura was sharper, and his gold eyes had a bright sheen. Gon had progressed very far, _very_ fast, but Hisoka was still lightyears ahead of him, and Tyrin visited the kid more often in the days leading up to the match, slightly worried.

One day before the fight, Wing gave Gon and Killua the divination test. Tyrin had heard of it, but had never taken it herself, watching with wonder as Gon’s water overflowed and Killua’s changed in flavor. Excited, Gon turned to her.

“Wow, I’m an Enhancer! What are you, Tyrin?”

“I don’t actually know. I’ve never taken the test.”

Gon gaped. Then, he reached for her hand, pulling her over to the small table where the glass of water sat. “Do it!”

“Okay, okay!” Tyrin cupped her hands around the glass, focusing her aura into them. Almost immediately, the water began to overflow; the leaf sailed onto the table, water dripping to the floor.

“Looks like you’re an Enhancer too,” Wing commented.

She withdrew her hands, searching for something to wipe up the water, when Gon gasped. She looked to see what had caught his attention: He was staring at the table as water flowed across it and back into the glass.

It didn’t stop there—the water un-dripped from the floor, as if on rewind. Once the table was dry, the water in the glass began to reduce, until it was entirely empty. Tyrin froze. Wing looked bewildered, and the three kids crowded around the glass, clamoring to examine it.

“I—I’ve never seen that happen,” Wing said, astounded. “I’ve seen some strange reactions from Specialists, but never one that mimics another type like that.” He eyed Tyrin inquisitively. “I don’t know what to tell you, I really can’t offer an explanation for that.”

The kids stared at her in awe. Tyrin pulled uncomfortably at her collar.

“Haha, that was unexpected,” she chittered nervously, turning to Gon. “Well, I guess we’re both Enhancers! Sort of.” Gon immediately brightened, strange happenings forgotten, and high-fived her.

“Eh, Transmuters are way cooler,” Killua shrugged, giving Tyrin one last once-over before fully joining Gon and Zushi (a Manipulator) in arguing over which type was better.

Wing finally sent the two boys back to their rooms at the Arena, and Tyrin tagged along before splitting off toward her hotel, bidding them good night. She watched their retreating figures until they faded into the dark.

Back in her room, she finally relaxed, face-planting onto the cheap cotton sheets. That had thrown her completely off-kilter, and she was worried it would make her stand out too much. Killua was already suspicious of her, and now Wing had reason for scrutiny; not to mention, Hisoka paid her altogether too much attention, but she admitted that that was necessary. Or was it? No, no, it definitely was—she’d never have been able to get her hands on Hisoka to bestow God’s Alms without being noticed. _Fuck_ , she lamented, _I’ll overthink myself to death_.

Tyrin flipped on her back sluggishly, her joints and bones starting their nightly protests. She dragged a hand in front of her face, flexing the fingers with a wince. All she’d done was focus her aura there and it hurt. That wasn’t good. So far, she’d only bestowed God’s Alms on one person. Father had probably engulfed nearly the entire continent by now, growing more powerful by the day, and she had one person on her team. One. And he wasn’t even aware of it. Soon, Father would spread into the human world, and if she didn’t have a strong enough team, she wouldn’t stand a chance of defeating him or rescuing the child.

_The child._

Tyrin thought of her, of her innocence; nothing like the late hours of the night to be full of regret. That was Tyrin’s biggest failure: leaving her behind, fleeing Father’s influence and wrath, abandoning the child to his devices. She must have already developed an ability, and Tyrin could only imagine what it was and how Father was exploiting it like he’d exploited hers. How could she have left the child to that horrible fate? She was too young to know, to understand why Big Sister would leave.

_He would have killed her_ , she reminded herself. _You had no choice. You are doing what you can to protect her_.

It didn’t make her feel better. If she could defeat Father, if she could find the child again… It was her greatest dream and her worst nightmare. Her plan to kill Father was suicide, but if she got the chance to see the child one last time, she knew she would be forgiven—that kind, pure child would forgive her _instantly_ —and that was unbearable. Tyrin didn’t deserve forgiveness for leaving her, when she was only going to do it again, _permanently_. Just thinking about it drew tears to her eyes.

She let them spill onto her cheeks and flow past her ears onto the sheets. Her hands hurt too much to wipe them, and besides, she deserved it. This—physical pain, mental anguish, emotional misery—was her punishment for her failures. It washed over her, eating her alive.

* * *

_She was in the canopy of the highest tree, the child perched on her shoulders, bathed in the glow of the sunset, she was in the alley, seeking friendship and love, chased away by jeers and rocks, she was scoring the winning point, climbing the tower, she was sucking the life out of others, she was being praised by Father, being hurt by Father, she was alone, so alone, unloved and unknown and unwanted, she was ephemeral, corporeal, she was waiting and watching, she was no one, she was someone, everything and Something and nothing, discordant and harmonious, she was she was she was—_

Tyrin awoke with a jolt, sitting up so fast she nearly blacked out. She had fallen asleep. As her blood settled and her vision cleared, she blearily checked the time: two in the afternoon. _Fuck!_ She scrambled for the bathroom, pausing briefly to grasp her aching back like an old lady. Giving herself a whore’s bath and racing through the rest of her morning routine, she threw on a fresh pair of underwear and yesterday’s clothes and dashed out the door. Gon vs Hisoka was at three, and her hotel was a _hike_. She would be lucky if she got a seat at all, much less a good one.

The arena was like a can of sardines. Tyrin pushed and shoved her way through the crowd to the elevator; several minutes of compression later, she wormed her way into a seat in the mid-tier stands, just in time. The lights went down, and the announcer’s voice boomed.

“Now, for the fight you’ve all been waiting for: Gon vs Hisoka!”

The crowd roared. To the left, a row of lights flashed, illuminating a smoke-filled walkway. Out of the haze emerged Gon, to the delight of the audience. To the right, the same spectacle, revealing Hisoka. _Good grief, they really went all-out for this one,_ Tyrin thought. The two stepped onto the platform. The referee stood between them, signaling with his hand.

“Start!”

Neither moved. They stared each other down; Hisoka remained as unflappable as ever, but Tyrin knew he was excited. Finally, Gon made the first move. He lunged for Hisoka, who dodged and smacked him to the ground, but the kid recovered immediately and tried again, unleashing a flurry of blows on Hisoka’s face. He avoided every single one, returning a blow of his own that Gon narrowly dodged. Hisoka followed up with a knee into Gon’s stomach, and thus the pattern was set: Gon attacked relentlessly and unsuccessfully, and every few moves Hisoka landed a hit in a different place—back, stomach, face, ribs—without taking a single step. 

Gon recovered from each hit instantly with that iron will of his, but after Hisoka sent him sliding backwards, the referee declared a clean hit and awarded Hisoka one point. Gon grimaced, and Hisoka smiled, pointing down.

“I haven’t moved from this spot,” he noted.

Gon’s eyes widened. “Really? Damn it!” Then he crouched, considering his next move.

The unyielding attacks began again, but this time Gon mixed in some feints. Hisoka blocked him as easily as before, an amused smile on his face. _Time for a new tactic_ , Tyrin assessed. Almost like he’d heard her, Gon landed, digging his fingers under one of the stone tiles. He strained briefly before uprooting the slab, launching it toward Hisoka for cover. From her seat, Tyrin could see Hisoka break the stone, knocking debris aside while searching for Gon, who had hidden himself in the dust. As Hisoka scanned the rubble, Gon emerged behind him.

For the third time since she’d met him, Hisoka was caught truly by surprise. Gon’s fist connected with his cheek as he turned, smudging his teardrop and sending him sliding across the platform. Hisoka’s eyebrows were in his hairline, eyes wide, and Tyrin desperately hoped someone had gotten it on camera so she could make it his contact photo in her phone. Hisoka came to a stop, maintaining his footing despite it all. The anxious silence was broken by the referee’s call.

“Critical hit! Two points to Gon!”

The audience went apeshit. Tyrin was ecstatic for Gon, who clenched his fists in celebration. He’d finally managed to return Hisoka’s punch, and she was so proud of him.

The bruised clown dropped out of fighting stance, strolling toward the center, and Gon met him in the middle. They stared each other down, inches away; Gon handed him a small white disk—Hisoka’s badge. Hisoka took it with a smirk, twirling it between his fingers.

Suddenly, they both leapt back. Hisoka did another of his distracting magic tricks, multiplying and vanishing the badge with a grin. “How much have you learned about nen?”

“I know the basic principles,” Gon answered cautiously.

“So you’re an Enhancer, then.”

“Eh?” Gon squawked. “How did you know that?”

“You’re so adorable,” Hisoka chuckled. “And not very good at keeping secrets.”

“Shut up and tell me how you know!”

“Hmm, it’s like a blood type personality test, but with aura.” Hisoka pointed dramatically at Gon. “For example, Enhancers are simple and determined!” Gon looked indignant, but he couldn’t argue. Hisoka gestured toward himself. “I’m a Transmuter, both whimsical and a liar.” Also incredibly accurate. He did the same for the other types, before addressing Gon again.

“We go together well, you and I,” he purred. “Opposites attract. We could be great friends.” _That’s Killua, not you, sweetie_ , Tyrin thought, rolling her eyes. “But be careful,” Hisoka narrowed his eyes (more) sinisterly, “Transmuters can be fickle. What was once treasured can easily become trash.”

Tyrin felt a light chill down her spine. That was eerily similar to what Illumi had said to Killua, and although Hisoka had no way of knowing the kid was a Transmuter, it still left Tyrin with a bad taste in her mouth. She couldn’t see Killua in the audience, but he must be there, and he must’ve heard that, and she hoped that he hadn’t come to the same conclusion.

Hisoka resumed his fighting stance. “I hope you don’t disappoint me, Gon.”

He bolted forward, jamming his elbow into Gon’s nose faster than the kid could react, and it only got worse from there. He was finally taking Gon seriously, not trying to kill him, but definitely humbling him. He chased Gon at speeds too fast for the average person to see—the audience was clamoring for announcer commentary, unable to keep track of the blurs. Tyrin was starting to struggle too, and when Hisoka let loose a kick that Gon barely dodged, sending another stone tile sailing into the arena ceiling, she realized: Hisoka had unwittingly invoked God’s Alms. As he laid siege to Gon, she could feel her aura being sucked toward him, feeding his delight. In the mélange, she could sense his sticky gum, and the strand stretching out from his finger. _Poor Gon._

Gon landed hard, rolling to his feet to catch his breath. He kept his distance, trying to assess the situation as the referee awarded Hisoka points for a clean and a critical hit.

“Come on, fight me.”

“Don’t wanna, I’m thinking!” Gon bit back.

“Fine, if you don’t want to come willingly, I’ll have to force you.” He raised his hand, the one Tyrin could sense was using Bungee Gum, index finger tensed and ready to beckon.

“Use gyo!” Killua shouted from somewhere below her. Gon jerked in surprise before narrowing his eyes; she could tell he was able to see the gum as he backed away, turning his head to try to unstick it from his chin. She was impressed he’d already learned gyo, but it was too little too late—without ken, he had no way of disconnecting himself, and Hisoka proved it, finally crooking his finger.

Gon was yanked across the platform, right into Hisoka’s flying fist. His little body crashed to the floor, and he lay there, twitching, utterly stunned.

“Critical hit and knockdown! Three points for Hisoka!”

Tyrin sighed. Gon had fought valiantly, and he’d certainly accomplished his goal, but it was all over. Now, he was completely at Hisoka’s mercy. Still, as mulish as ever, he staggered to his feet, determined to keep going; she wasn’t sure if it was admirable or foolish.

“I’ll give you one free hit,” Hisoka drawled, lazily swinging the strand like a sticky jump rope, “if you can answer this question: When did I attach my Bungee Gum to you?”

At the other end of the gum rope, Gon blinked. Tyrin could see the gears turning in his head even from across the arena. She was thinking too, replaying the fight in her mind.

“I’ll give you three choices. One: when I elbowed you in the face; two: when I landed the clean hit; three: when I landed the critical hit. Choose wisely,” Hisoka purred.

Tyrin pondered the options, thinking of her own experiences with Bungee Gum—the first time, he’d attached it when he touched her chin; the second, she wasn’t so sure. He could’ve stuck it on her when he’d had her pinned, or in the ensuing chaos when she flipped their positions. She thought of his fight with Kastro, and the numerous diversions he’d used to attach the gum to all the moving parts of his plan. He was a master of sleight of hand and loved to show off. The choices he’d given seemed too obvious—they were all moments where he’d physically touched Gon. Tyrin wracked her brain for other possibilities, something less obvious, chiding herself for not using gyo from the beginning. An inkling was wriggling in the back of her mind, but Gon had already made his decision.

“It’s number three, when you touched me with both hands!” he declared.

“Wrong. It was number four.” Hisoka retorted. “It was when I was explaining my aura personality test.”

Ah. It was when he’d pointed at Gon and declared him an Enhancer—he’d done some exaggerated wind-up of his arm, making a real show of it. Not exactly _less_ obvious, but easily misconstrued as a magician’s theatrics. Tyrin clucked her tongue. Gon clenched his fists.

“Oh, you must be thinking you should’ve used gyo from the beginning,” Hisoka inferred. “If you had, you might have seen my Bungee Gum during my aura analysis and avoided it easily.” He was clearly enjoying this, making Gon aware of his mistakes. “But what about the other three situations? It doesn’t matter if you can see my aura—if you can’t dodge my attacks, you have no chance.” He was painfully correct, and Gon knew it; but at the end of the day, he was the very definition of obstinate. He leapt forward, resolved to bring the fight to Hisoka. A shiver ran through Hisoka, resonating through his aura connection to Tyrin; she could feel his ecstasy, and he allowed Gon to clobber his face with a barrage of fists, reveling in it.

Eventually he fought back. He played Gon like a paddle ball, punching him away before yanking him back, to and fro, until he let Gon stay where he landed across the platform.

“Two critical hits and a knockdown! The score is now nine to four, Hisoka!”

“Huh? I blocked his last hit!” Gon argued. The audience backed him up, booing the referee. Hisoka was now one point away from winning.

“You should be more vigilant, Gon,” the magician chuckled. “Take a look to your right.” Tyrin stared, slack-jawed, as Gon actually looked where Hisoka was pointing. Surely he wouldn’t fall for the _oldest trick in the book_? And yet he did, blindsided by a chunk of stone from the left, pulled from the rubble by—wait for it—a strand of Bungee Gum.

“Oops, I suppose I should’ve said _my_ right.”

“Critical hit and knockdown! Two points for Hisoka, score is eleven to four. The winner by TKO is Hisoka!”

The winner smirked as Gon stared at the ref in shock. “Not bad for your first time against me. But next time we fight, it’ll be in the real world.”

Tyrin watched Hisoka go, then peered down at Gon where he sagged on the floor. He was scuffed to hell, and his cheek was starting to swell. She left him there, content to visit him later after he’d cooled off. Instead, she headed for Hisoka’s room yet again.

She entered without knocking, opening the door to see him examining his minor injuries in the mirror. He caressed the scratches and bruises, reverent.

“What are you doing?”

“Exalting,” he replied without looking at her.

“You’re that excited about beating a child in a fight?”

“He’s progressed so far so quickly,” he breathed.

“How many times are you going to fight him before you just fucking kill him?” she sighed.

“Well, today I almost did.” He finally faced her, golden eyes beseeching. “After he returned my punch, I felt an odd surge of strength. I originally attributed it to him flipping my switch—” she made a face at that phrasing “—but now, I wonder.” He thumbed at the hollow of his throat, at her invisible mark. She ignored the irritatingly astute implication.

“So that’s ten wins for you now,” she redirected, flopping into a chair. “You gonna challenge a Floor Master before you leave?”

He studied her, stroking over the mark one last time before acquiescing to the change of subject. “Perhaps,” he mused. “If there are any who are worth my time. If only you were still a Floor Master, that would be fun.”

She rolled her eyes. “You would’ve been a waste of my time.”

“Oh, I love it when you talk so condescendingly.”

“Clean yourself up, you dirty clown. I’m going to go check on Gon.”

* * *

Only an hour had elapsed since the end of the fight, but the little frog boy was already back to his old self, albeit covered in band-aids and salve. He was in his room with Killua, Wing, and Zushi, who were oscillating between scolding and congratulating. Tyrin opted for the latter.

“Good job, Gon!” He grinned at her, half of it hidden behind an ice pack on his swollen cheek. “Four points scored on Hisoka, that’s no walk in the park!”

“He might’ve done even better, but I saw an interview with the ref, and he said he was scoring in Hisoka’s favor so _this_ idiot—” Killua bonked Gon on the head in fond exasperation “—wouldn’t get killed.”

Tyrin nodded. “That makes sense.” Gon looked a little put out despite the playful atmosphere. “Hey, don’t look so down. Hisoka’s been using nen for years, you only learned about it, like, last week. One day you’ll be on even footing and kick his ass.” Gon giggled. “Attaboy. So, what’re you gonna do now? Stay with Wing and Zushi and keep training?”

“No, we’re going back to my house for a bit before meeting up with Leorio and Kurapika.” Gon turned to his teacher and fellow student. “I learned so much from you both, let’s meet up again sometime!” He clambered off the bed to do a formal salute. They departed, leaving Tyrin with the two boys.

“Tyrin, are you staying at the Arena?”

“Nah, I think I’m going to head home. I’ve seen enough fights lately.”

“Where’s home again?”

“Yorknew City,” she replied.

Gon perked up. “That’s where we’re meeting the others! Maybe we’ll see you there?”

“Maybe,” she said. She mentally fist pumped: Both of her target groups were going to be in the same place at the same time. _Score one for me!_ “You guys have my number right? Give me a call when you get there, I’ll come meet you.”

“Yeah!”

She bid them goodbye, meandering back to her hotel, thinking of September. What was her plan, aside from following Hisoka and waiting for the kids to contact her? She’d said she was from Yorknew City, but she’d only lived there a few months, and it had been even longer since she’d been there last. In the lobby of her hotel, she logged onto the computer again, intent on researching her pseudo-hometown. She was about to click on the first result, a basic encyclopedic webpage, when something else caught her eye.

**_Southernpiece Auction: Tickets Available Now!_ **

Lightbulb. According to the linked article, the auction was scheduled for the beginning of September. Auction, aka countless valuable items in one place. Phantom Troupe, aka band of thieves.

_Oh yeah, it was all coming together._

She returned to the search page, changing the terms, and perused the results. Most of them pertained to the Southernpiece auction, but as she dug deeper, references to an underground event began to crop up. From what she could glean, it was the black-market version of the auction, run annually and concurrently with the legal one. Not a lot of details, but she figured she could extrapolate a few things—the underground auction probably had a lot more security, a lot rarer and more illicit items, and _much_ more intrigue for a group like the Troupe.

* * *

The last time she saw Hisoka at the Arena, he threw a wrench in her plans.

It was the morning of his Floor Master bout, and she had come both to watch the fight, and wring as much information about the Troupe’s plans from him as she could. He was in his room, meticulously painting the star on his cheek, when she walked in.

“You really do that every morning?” He ignored her. There was only an hour until the fight, so she skipped straight to the point. “Tell me about the Troupe members.”

“What do you want to know?” He leaned forward to inspect his work.

“Names.”

“No.”

“Abilities.”

“I only know mine and Machi’s, and so do you.”

“Do you know _anything_ useful?”

“Not for free.”

“I’m not making you cream your pants again.”

“As much as I would enjoy that, that’s not what I’m talking about.” Hisoka finally looked at her, face fully made up. His star and teardrop were perfect. “I’m assuming you’re trying to do to the Troupe what you did to me,” he ran a thumb over her mark, “and you won’t be able to lay a finger on them without my help. By the same token, you’re going to help me get the boss alone so I can fight him.”

“Who’s this boss you keep referring to? You mentioned him when Machi was here too.”

“You’ll see.”

She heaved an irritated sigh. “You’re going to have to give me more to work with. Do you even know _why_ you’re gathering in Yorknew City?”

“That doesn’t really matter to me, as long as the boss is there.”

“The _auction_ , you clown. There’s an underground black-market auction at the beginning of September and I would bet my ass your beloved ‘ _boss_ ’ intends to rob it.” Hisoka hummed, unperturbed. She threw her hands up. “I don’t know how you expect me to get close to them, mark them, _and_ help you corner the boss, all in the middle of a high-stakes _heist_.”

“So, you put a mark on me?” _Fuck_.

“I—” _Good job, Tyrin_. She rubbed a hand over her eyes. “Listen. I put a mark on you, yes. It’s my hatsu, but it won’t hurt you. In fact, you might even have noticed that it _helps_ you. But I really, _truly_ , can’t tell you anything else. If you want my help cornering the boss, you’re gonna have to trust me.”

Hisoka stared at her. She could almost see the gears turning in his head, the chess pieces moving. At last, he spoke.

“Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time writing a Long Fic so please bear with me! special thanks to Onesmartcookie78 for beta-ing, ily<3
> 
> title is taken from "The Heart of Everything" by Within Temptation, *highly* recommend this song!! 
> 
> updates will come sporadically.


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